Forever the Faithful Fan
by Satchelle
Summary: If YOU were sucked into Death Note, your first thought would be ' Who slipped me acid? ' Your second? ' I'll solve the case because I've read every volume like a good fan-child and SAVE THE DAY! HOORAY! ' Then things get complicated. L/OC
1. Explosion

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note (only in my dreams...). I do not own any products I may mention (it's called free advertising, pals) nor do I wish to offend anyone with any opinions that may be expressed. This Disclaimer applies to all future chapters as well as the current. (SPOILERS…I suppose too, so THEE BE WARNED)**

**Chapter 1**

Heart racing, head pounding, feet aching.

_Keep going…_

My hands slapped against a dusty, red bricked wall as I broke through a barricade of aluminum garbage cans, they clattered together and bounced across the alley. Plump pigeons were on the tips of their talons with eyes darting back and forth. They perched upon narrow balconies above and fluttered to the four winds in alarm from the CLANGING noise. The flapping of their wings lost in the shouts of outrage behind me.

Leaping over the spilled remains of someone's leftover casseroles, I continued my flight with only a short, faltering stumble. A driving thumping in my temples kept my pace steady after that.

I turned onto an open street, pushing past an onslaught of people coming and going from their busy lives. Some were distinguishably garnished, with lavish furs and velvets or constricting ties and expensive briefcases. Others held java in their hands or pushed strollers, gripping their children by the collar.

All were faceless as I barged into the sea of bodies. Shrieks and profanities were screamed and already forgotten. The crowd parted like the goddamn red sea for the two men in uniform in hot pursuit. I could hardly hear them as they called for me to halt over the sound of my own gasping, it resounded in my ear drums with every quick intake of breath.

I glanced back for a moment, my sweat-soaked hair whipping me in the eyes. My pursuers remained in time, their batons whacking them in the thighs. They were very much the comic duo; one's stick-thin body over-shadowed by his partner's wide girth. Both had pit stains and red faces, but they weren't giving up.

Time for desperate measures.

I hopped up onto a wooden bench, balanced on the back-rest and swung my arm around a nearby lamppost. I leaned back into the street, my toes curling around the wooden plank and the soft skin of my arm pinching against the posters and advertisements taped on the sleek, black metal of the street-light.

The crowd of people that had formed around me and the police officers gasped in awe and fright as city bus speeded by, not inches from making me a spot on the windshield.

I strapped on a sloppy grin and called out wildly, "those donuts padding your gut are why you'll have a heart-attack before you get within five feet of me!"

The bulgier one put his hands on his knees, his cheeks puffed out as he tried to catch his breath. His cap was disheveled and tilted slightly sideways. His buddy wasn't looking so hot either. "Give it up, you're trapped!" Stick-man shouted in a tone that I'm sure to him sounded very manly, but the rest of the onlookers heard it more as a plead.

"See, now that is precisely why we'll never get along." I pirouetted around the post, tip-toeing back onto the edge of the bench. "I'm more creative than you give me credit for!" And with that, I flashed them a lazy salute and leaned out into traffic.

With a thunderous WHIR of a passing truck, I vanished.

Some blocks and a couple of stop-lights later, I released my death-grip from the metal grating of the transport truck and hopped off at a four-way intersection. With a giddy whistle and me tapping my hands on my thighs; I strolled down MacGaber Street.

My fingers wrapped around what was stuffed in the pockets of my bright orange cargo pants, as if to make sure it hadn't disappeared.

Expensive, shiny, and headed for a pawn shop.

The morning light streamed down over the grey-clad apartment buildings and reflected off the shiny, blue windows of distant sky-scrapers. Miniature window washers suspended hundreds of feet in the air could be recognized by their white caps and frantic adjustments of ropes and tool-belts. Looking nothing more than squirming dots from my stand-point.

I turned the corner and rapped on the walk-through window of my habitual fast-food joint with my knuckles, bypassing all the yawning and impatient line-waiters. The window slid open with a SHUMP and out peeked Dorothy. Her usual over-done make-up stuck off the lines in her face in clumps, her bottle-made orange hair mushroomed over the tip of her visor in defiant curls.

"Look who decided to show up." Her lips pouted apart as her smoker's voice box drilled the usual low-octave tone. She released her remote and raised a perfectly maintained eyebrow, looking me up and down in disapproval

I was a little worse for wear, I'll admit. I could understand why she pursed her lips with disgust. No shoes, a sweaty white tank-top, dirt patches all over my face and clothes. I wasn't exactly Miss. Universe over here, but who could blame me? I'd just been chased 23 blocks (props to butch and his stick-man partner for even making it that far).

I wiped my hair behind my ear with a passing sense of self-awareness. "Nice to see you too, Dorothy. Can I get…" I bit down on my bottom lip as if thinking about the choices, though we both knew I would order the exact same thing as every Wednesday, "a Strawberry Explosion, please?"

Dorothy popped a cherry-bubble and started chewing with her mouth wide open. She held her remote up to her neck again. "Sure thing, Sydney." She turned to yell out the order and then looked back at me. "How goes the step-uncle?"

"Oh fine, fine. A regular pocket full of sunshine!" I rubbed my shoulder in remembrance, too much whisky in a man with big arms and a short temperament lead to lots of broken things, luckily not my collarbone.

_This time, that is. _

Dorothy pinched her lips until they were white, her nostrils opened and closed. She knew what the street was like, having the after-hours job that she did. "Here's your Strawberry Explosion," she slid the monstrous cup over to me, "NEXT!"

I was shoved out of the way as a cyclist with an attitude gargled out his order.

I pulled the straw to my mouth and scuttled down the side-walk, not wasting the effort to remind Dorothy that I hadn't paid yet. Which worked out for the best, since I didn't have a dime to my name anyways.

My heart was still racing a bit after my morning endeavor, and the liquid sugar I was slurping with extreme vigor wasn't exactly going to calm me down. I supposed the adrenaline was still streaming through my veins since I couldn't help but bounce about the curb in a boisterous kind of way. I even clapped my feet together mid-air in a mockery of a Broadway dance routine...

BRAIN FREEZE!

The pawn shop was down by the docks, so I had quite the walk ahead of me. Making sure to drink my Explosion slowly, I took the long way around (just in case those cops decided upon being persistent little buggers).

A breeze wafting of salt and pollution cooled my heated skin.

The world ignored me, not thinking twice about the adolescent girl with no shoes, sucking on a Strawberry Explosion. I enjoyed staring at people as they kept their eyes fixated to some invisible goal.

I passed a man carrying a box of what looked like rather large earthworms, some half-crazed Goth boy with frizzy hair and melting eye-liner and an old blight giving it his all at the bongos, his grimy biker's helmet out in front for any passerby's kind generosity.

_I would if I could, man. _I thought with an expression of sympathy.

The pawn shop faced the river, distant ferries trailed back and forth across, a few sailboats snaking in-between.

A flock of seagulls squawked at each other, their heads bobbing about as they searched for any scrap of edible litter.

The sound of a bell tinkled as I pressed against the glass door. Bars lined the store-front window, and an "OPEN" neon sign fizzed. The store was lined with foldable plastic tables all the way to the back and pressed against the wall. On the tables were assortments of goods, none of them labeled. There were ships in bottles and tattered paper-backs, several katanas and old-war junk, even a few skulls (fake, I'm sure). No organized system was present to distinguish between the types or styles of the products, the buyer would have to rummage around until they found whatever they were searching for.

Florescent rectangular lights lined with thin cages hummed from the ceiling. Many unfortunate flies littered the canisters, a few even buzzed about frantically for an escape.

The counter was near the back, a way to force any tradesman to perhaps catch sight of something they might fancy before reaching their goal. I shuffled across the multi-colored tiles and plopped my "find" on the counter-top.

I slurped at any non existent Explosion that might be hiding at the bottom of my jumbo-cup and whacked the copper-sprayed bell a couple of times. A mini-rotary fan buzzed back and forth, hardly stirring up the stuffy air at all.

A man of Native-American decent shambled up to meet me. He was wearing a checkered shirt, fluffed open at the collar, white-washed jeans and a cross-stitched cowboy hat (with a red-dyed eagle feather stuck in it for good measure). His long hair hung down the back of his neck in bountiful dreadlocks.

"How can I help you today, my dear Sydney? I have a _new_ shipment of comics, original copies, straight from the author's desk, I swear on the Gods." Jerry liked to swear on his Gods quite often, usually when it suited him.

But who could take a man with dreadlocks in a cowboy hat seriously?

His offer hung in the air for a moment, but I waved it away. "Just selling today, thanks Jerry."

"Hmm," Jerry snapped on a surgeon's glove and inspected the goods with a surprising delicacy for his sausage fingers, "I might be able to spare…perhaps a hundred for this piece."

"A hundred," I slammed my now empty Strawberry Explosion down on the glass cabinet, a ring of condensation began to form and drizzle towards the edge, "that's worth FOUR, at _least!_" I snatched my stolen goods from Jerry's greedy hands and held them back with a warning. "There are plenty of other pawn shops in this city, Jerry. I can take them elsewhere—"

"No, no!" His thick accent slipped through as he rushed his wording. "Two seventy-five! Final offer."

I showed the wicked daggers in my teeth as I cracked a smile and slowly handed them back to him.

The great thing about Jerry was that he never asked questions. Once a valuable object crossed the threshold of his shop, how it was attained became unnecessary information.

"We have an accord then." I picked up my Explosion and my bright eyes darted about the room for a recycling bin. Hey, I'm Canadian. You have to care about stuff like the environment when you're Canadian. It came with the freedom of speech and health-care benefits (something I wasn't even entitled to).

The right to vote was insinuated with the whole "privilege package" too. Not that I was old enough to vote, mind you. And not that I would, seeing as how the politicians were all the same. You were getting the shit taxed out of you no matter _who _you got stuck with.

"Here, take a look at this, Sydney." I withdrew from my thoughts of recycling bins and glanced down at the manuscript that was plopped in front of me.

Jerry was being pushy, it seemed. He hummed a tune foreign to my ears and started rummaging around in the cash register while hopping from foot to foot.

The "thing" had Japanese characters scribbled down the front. Out of sheer politeness, I lifted the page by the corner carefully (you rip it you buy it) and let out a small squeal of pleasure. One of my favorite characters of all time stared back at me, sitting in his usual awkward crouch with the mandatory cup of sweetened tea held between his fingertips.

Alright, I was an Otaku-freak. Who wasn't these days?

The one thing I enjoyed about anime-manga in particular was that there was never anything too outlandish, too crazy. There could be giant scythes morphing into people, or break-dancing samurai, or even death gods who were suckers for apples.

Death Note was a definite all time favorite.

And why?

Simple.

_L. _

Yes, yes. The combination of all the characters, streaming from an obsessive good-looking Light to a preppy yet Goth Misa-Misa to a good-natured Matsuda to even the mysterious Watari were all very important.

The plot twists and the uniqueness of it all kept the series number one on the charts.

But L was the reason you had your fan-girls (and fan-guys) screaming and sighing over Death Note. He was distinctively unmatched by any other creation pertaining to that style. Certainly one of _my _top five characters, to be sure. I had read the series up and down, and then read it again.

Which is why, half way through…well, I simply lost interest after he was killed off. Don't get me wrong, I liked Matt. I _really _liked Matt. But Near was just a copycat, and Mello was…Mello. I just didn't buy that together they were even _better _than L; it just wasn't clicking with me.

I am, after all, entitled to my opinion.

As in: _L FRICKEN ROCKS SO SUCK IT!_

Or something along those lines.

"This is—" I pointed at the penned manga.

"One of the original volumes." He stated, and began to count out folded green bills. He paused and looked up at me through musty, square framed glasses. "That's quite the bruise you got there."

I shrugged nonchalantly.

He slid the bills towards me and fanned them out. Still staring at my shoulder, he said, "In my clan, we believe that stories are powerful things to pass on."

I nodded, not really listening to him speak as I started counting the paper myself. Jerry could go on and on about his "clan" if you let him.

He pressed on, leaning over the counter while he stared at me intensely. Like a midnight alley cat who knows which bag of discarded trash withholds the leftover can of tuna. "Stories can change your life."

"Sure, sure." I waved the bills at him and grinned. "Thanks a million, pal. You look out for yourself, ya hear?"

My disposable Strawberry Explosion forgotten, I started to wiggle my way between the stacks of tables towards the door. My sweaty palm clamped tightly around my earnings for the day. I knew exactly what I was going to buy first too: a gigantic banana-split, then shoes. Definitely going to need some shoes, I wasn't about to go fishing for my last pair in that sewage pipe (long story).

I thought Jerry had remained behind his counter, until-

"They're an escape, stories are."

I nearly banged my skull on the cheaply card-boarded ceiling for how high I jumped. I bet I could have competed in the Olympics. First all that running this morning, then the jumping. I was turning out to be a regular athlete.

Jerry was hunched over my shoulder now, like a large crow with a hump in its feathers. "Some people need an escape once in a while."

It was a little too close for comfort. "Uh-huh, yeah. Look I gotta jet, but you have a nice day now, okay?"

I had nearly reached the store-front, the advertising signs plastered to the window clearly visible, the white sunlight pouring in through the foggy glass…

"Good, glad we see eye to eye!"

I felt an involuntary chill run up my spine. Thoroughly creeped out, I looked him boldly straight in the face as I had one elbow shimmied up against the PUSH handle of the door. Jerry tapped the priceless Death Note manuscript to his temple, smiling knowingly. "You have fun out there."

"Fun, yeah. I'll see you around, Jerry." Slightly miffed, I stepped out into the bright sunlight, the bell tinkling behind me and—

Had a heart attack.

Okay, I didn't have a heart attack. But it sure as hell felt like one. What with my internal organs jumping half-way up my throat, my skin freezing into a giant slab of ice stretching over my quivering bones and my eyes popping clear out of my head.

A reaction of pure shock.

Unlike the peaceful docks I had expected to lay my eyes on, I was instead staring at tall sky-scrapers, towering into the sun like glittering beacons of glass and steel.

Cars and mopeds whizzed by at alarming rates. Horns honked, cyclists and pedestrians alike waved their fists and bared their teeth.

Crowds of men in suits, teenagers with spiked hair sporting ear-phones the size of cinnamon buns, and ol' regular folk tumbled left and right, swarming the sidewalk like flies. Their voices mixed and clashed as they chattered on cell phones and spoke loudly over their friends.

I guess "ol' regular folk" isn't exactly the right term.

One: Nearly everyone was Asian.

Two: Everything, and I mean _everything_, from the giant T.V screens on the side of the building across the street to the gum stuck to the bus-stop sign, was _animated. _

The first rational thing I did was scream bloody murder.

Thus receiving several disgusted glances from nearby pedestrians, all of which muttered irritable sentences under their breath, and then ignored me.

The second thing was me spinning like a top to face Jerry's store. Except it wasn't Jerry's store. It was a stand-alone two story shop, with white crusted, flaking paint and wood bleached from too much sun nailed over the windows and door. A faded blue shutter leaned against the step; it seeped with a sad abandonment. The rest of the area surrounding the building was dirt, no grass or the usual flower pots, just an empty lot.

My mouth must've opened so wide that a train could've chugged its way out.

After several long minutes of a lack of productivity; I fell back onto the concrete step, suddenly exhausted. My legs bent out in front of me, my chin resting in my calloused hands as I stared out, wide eyed, into the world.

_UN-believable. _

I rubbed my mouth and sucked on my inner cheek. _Dorothy must've put something in that Strawberry Explosion. I wouldn't put it past her. What was it? Acid? Meth? What?_ She probably did it with the best intentions too; I could almost hear her with that voice box sizzling in and out of tune. _"It'll help take the edge off, hon."_

"That horrid—when I get off this high I swear…" My spine suddenly dipped, my rib-cage felt as if it had con-caved in on itself and the world spun. "If _he _catches me like this…I'm dead, worse than dead." I had an image of him smiling at the police as he waved, and then grabbing my arm and dragging me out of the station.

The sound of bones cracking was already prominent.

I rubbed my hand over my eyes and groaned. "Aw jeez, just write up the funeral certificate now."

I looked out once again into the bustling pant legs and pencil skirts, (what I'm assuming to be) my imagination's concoctive view of a typical down-town, Japanese city.

A typical down-town, Japanese, _anime _city.

_Well, I'm screwed anyway. Might as well enjoy it. _

I stretched my arms, cringing slightly at my sore shoulder and bent back and forth. After wiggling about, making sure I had all my proper body-parts in the correct place, I brushed myself off and stood up, joining the throng of people.

I went with the flow for a bit, allowing them to push me along. I felt very immersed, almost part of a unit, as if I wasn't one single person, but a machine.

The crowded side-walk eventually dispersed. Only a few people littered about, fiddling with their lap tops or leaning against building corners.

"I guess lunch break is over." I muttered.

I had landed in front of some very pop-cultured boutique. The shop window displayed very thin mannequins (don't get me started) wearing vibrant colors and dyed wigs with pig-tails or shag cuts, a few with high-tops or gloves with the fingers cut out or striped leg warmers scrunched down to the ankles.

The kind of colors that may have over-whelmed someone new to the "acid" world. They resembled a bubble-gum factory, or a bee's worst nightmare.

Everything was so clear and solid. As if I could reach out and touch—

_Holy—_

I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and blinked again.

There I was, clear as day, in the window's reflection.

Except it wasn't me, I mean, it was, it had to be, but it still wasn't.

I was animated too.

Which makes sense, if we're going by the random rules of High-Ville. I was in an animated city, thus, I had to be animated to be a part of it.

_Weird, weird, weird, weird, weird…_

I involuntarily lifted up my hair and picked at my clothing. Turning left and right, straining my neck to see myself at a 360 degree angle.

_Still barefoot, _anime_ barefoot. Same spots of dirt, _anime_ dirt. Same cargo pants, _anime _cargo…oh forget it._ I was anime all over, from the grey eyes to the nail on my pinky finger.

Every color was defined, every line smooth, yet to me in 3-D.

Any other Otaku freak would be squealing their head off by now, jumping up and down and trying every trick in the book. The classic vein popping, the sideways reel, and King of all anime quirks: the _sweat drop. _

Hey, I'm no different than the others. No restraint from this Otaku. I went straight for the three triangle vein popping.

_Think of something that makes you mad…so-o mad, that you want to burst. Think of hypocrites…of two-faced…_his _face…_

POP!

"Eureka!" I cheered, throwing my fist in the air. As soon as my victory came, the vein was gone.

I felt an evil, schemey feeling wash over me. _This is going to be so much fun._

After doing the vein popping thing to the be-stilled mannequins in the storefront window (who I'm sure were cheering me on in their synthetic little minds), I practiced lurching to the side and falling to the ground in an act of disbelief. After freaking out an old couple waiting for the bus (around my eighth try), I attempted to be more discreet.

The sweat drop was the hardest, my brain nearly exploded from the effort. I could feel my entire body trembling as I tried to will it to work. _Use the force..._

Trying to compel a feeling of…well, it was hard to describe; was difficult to do.

In the end, I couldn't even get out ONE sweat drop, simply for a lack of a definition.

_I guess it's an 'in the moment' sort of thing. _

I looked about my surroundings again, now thoroughly bored with my entertaining game. A lot of strangers were giving me a wide berth, either wary from my previous antics, or perhaps how one might act to a foreigner with no shoes?

Besides the point, a trumpeting sound rang in my ears. I looked up to see a News Cast Report on the giant T.V screen dozens of feet above my head.

My neck craned back and I shaded my eyes from the sun. I couldn't understand a word they were saying, but one little detail pierced me to the core.

The word 'Kira' mentioned several times, and the gigantic letter 'L' flashing on screen.

So then it hit me.

Like a bus colliding with my chest booking 60.

Like an aluminum bat swinging up to meet my skull.

Like a tiny implanted micro-chip blowing half my brain to Kingdom Come.

I wasn't just hallucinating about some random anime dream world.

I was hallucinating about Death Note.

_End of Chapter 1_

Female character gets sucked into Death Note, now THAT rings a bell. Hey, it's not like I _stole _the idea or anything, everyone else just happened to have it first. :)

So leave a review or don't leave a review. Or be all ghostly and leave an 'anonymous' review. Either way, if you like it, thumbs up, if you don't then sue me (or not, I'm a bit broke at the moment)


	2. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Thank you for your reviews, I super-supremely, truly, really appreciate it. **

**Chapter 2**

Best-hallucination-EVER!

Considering that I wasn't already tucked safely away in a cushioned white room bound in a straight-jacket, there must have been some upside to going insane.

Upside being: having an anime mindset and a supreme imagination. I was experiencing Death Note delusions.

Which has to be the best kind of delusions, let's face it.

So if I was lost somewhere in a big Death Note city (figuratively, naturally), then I must have been near the main cast.

Conclusion: Meet L.

Opportunity of the century for an Otaku who could barely remember her _regular_ dreams when she woke up on those cold, dreary mornings.

Unfortunately, my dream seemed to be a little _too _real.

For one thing, I wasn't exactly included in the language. Hardly being capable of pronouncing the Japanese words I _do_ know properly (and that's just from the subs I watch on occasion in my personal corner of the public library), there was no way I could read any street signs.

Secondly, it took forever to walk anywhere! No destination rushed up to meet me, no magical cloud carried me to where I willed it to go. I was stuck on two big, floppy feet; shoving through the unfamiliar crowd.

And believe me, walking with bare feet got a lot harder when the population practically doubled. It was a sorry day when no one would hop out of their personal bubbles long enough to care if they squashed three of your favorite little toes in quick succession.

As I focused on my toe-saving dance, I didn't notice the petite school girl until I was already on top of her.

BAM!

Poor chick crumpled like a piece of paper.

I jumped to the rescue, rushing forward and lifting her by the arm before her tiny skull was crushed by the crowd.

I started brushing her shoulders off, sputtering out my deepest apologies. No one needed to be pile-drived into the pavement without good reason.

The girl looked like she was on her way to class: with the tell-tale knee-length skirt, the grey cardigan and red and yellow striped bow. But the massive beige shoulder bag bursting to the brim with books would have given her away even without the uniform.

She wore round glasses that she constantly kept pushing back up the bridge of her nose; they were the kind that didn't have frames. Dark braids twisted and bounced behind her ears when she moved. The one thing I would say wasn't completely shojo cliché about her was the strand of bubblegum-blue hair entwining with her left braid.

Stuff like that got me pumped. How many times in a day do you see a generally hit-the-books kind of girl, and then she defies your stereotype with something outlandish?

_Glorious. Only in anime. _

She smiled at me, showing off her matching bubblegum-blue braces. "You are American?"

I gave the girl credit; she was hardly older than me and already sounded semi-fluent in English. I could hardly speak French and that was supposed to be my first-language. (Je ne sais pas, que voulez-vous de moi?)

"Canadian, actually." My words slurred together. You have no idea how many times in a day I have to clarify that, now it's become second nature. (Although I have been living in the grand-old U.S of A for 5 years now, but that's different)

As she looked up at me shyly a light switch flipped ON in my head.

_She speaks English._

_Therefore, by default, she can help me locate L._

Since L was pretty damn elusive in the anime, I figured it wouldn't be much different in my fantasy-world. Which meant finding him was going to be next to impossible. A plan was already forming in my brain.

_I find Light first, then Chief Yagami and _then_ L. Flawless._

I didn't know Light's address (and I doubt I would have been able to find it in this maze of a city). The only place I knew for sure Light had ever attended was that big, distinguished university for the elite. To-Oh, I _believe_ it was called.

_So find To-Oh, then Light, then Chief Yagami and _then_ L. _NOW _it's flawless._

The girl bowed politely. "My name is Kasuragi Mei. Welcome to Japan. What is your name?"

"Sydney." I paused, names in Death Note were important to a near astronomical standard. If I wanted to play along with this game, I would have to think of an alias.

_I need something cool…_

Several famous historic idols of mine popped into my head: Kings of old who felled entire empires with their armies, monumental activists who changed how the world saw rights and freedoms, credible authors that captured people's imaginations and held them to the very last letter of the very last word.

While pondering totally dominating nicknames and staring rudely up into space, I began asking Mei for directions.

She pointed me on the right track with a crisp efficiency.

I saw her continue to look at her watch with an anxious expression. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her knee-high socks rubbing together.

I realized she was trying to be polite, despite the fact that I was making her late.

After another stream of apologies, I let her on her way and watched as Mei and her blue hair dissolved in the crowd.

I didn't think of her at all after that. Not a wisp or a hint, not a single ponder or muse.

Mei was gone.

_Back to business! _I rubbed my hands together and cackled inwardly. _Light Yagami, here I come!_

To-Oh was big.

Oh, I'm sure there's a more poetic way to describe it.

To-Oh stuck out of the pavement like a giant concrete zit. Bulging and intruding, like a large prison block. Black street lights were suspended over the adjacent street, electric-minis ambled by.

But it was big.

A large white banner hung over the entrance in a semblance of welcome. Students and their families arrived one after the other, giving and receiving hugs and teary exchanges of pride.

Men in blue uniform identified tiny orange pieces of identification at the double-doored entrance.

I was squatted in a bush across the street, observing the situation.

There just had to be a way for a foreign kid with no shoes to bypass security. I was thinking along the lines of water balloons, or my second idea (pure genius, if I do say so myself) involved spitballs and guerilla war cries.

Of course, I was low on supplies.

I fell back onto the crisply shaven lawn. Green stains rubbed into my top as I squirmed in frustration. In my line of vision I saw upside-down cotton ball clouds drift by, aimless and disorganized.

_So much for my plan. _

"WAH!"

I was startled into a sitting position, my head turning left and right, my eyebrows raised in curiosity.

I located the source of the noise immediately. A repair-man (or at least, what I'm assuming is a repair-man) had fallen from his ladder across the street outside of a convenience store.

It looked as though he was working on the power cables extending from the corner of the store's roof that trailed across and attached to a post next to the curb. The wire was stripped naked of its rubber; all the grey-slicked strands were sticking outwards in a frazzled sort of way.

He sucked on his wrist and seethed in frustration. I watched, like a horned-owl who had just found its next meal, as he scuttled inside the building to aid whatever wound he had inflicted upon himself.

He would walk out five minutes later with a Sponge Bob band-aid and injured pride, only to find that his ladder had mysteriously grown legs and walked off.

My legs, to be exact.

I was feeling pretty good, almost like a super-spy. A ladder was a little bit bigger than the things I normally lifted, but this had been a walk in the park compared to a couple choice wallets (I won't mention names, but _some _people get really touchy when they catch you sifting through their Franklins.)

I trudged along and crossed to the back of the university. There was nothing but a small parking lot with a forlorn looking Honda sitting in the shade in all its rusty red glory, other than that the place was completely deserted.

My tongue clicked against my teeth as I leaned the ladder against the cold, flat stone-work. The window was cracked open only _slightly _for the early spring heat-wave, but it was just enough to allow myself in.

To-Oh was big on the inside too.

For the sake of description, the walls were made of some sort of tanned brick, each one larger than my head. The floors were tiled with a speckled white, an over-shadowed black square in between every four. There were no lockers or coat hooks, just finely finished doors on my right with an efficient but pricy look. Large windows on my left. The round lights stringed down the hallway gave off a bright, white glow.

The padding of my feet echoed softly as I crept down the hall. Every so often peeking into doors or listening for any sound of human life. The whole place was empty.

_Where is everyone?_

My thoughts drifted to more prominent things, like how I was going to find Light in a place as huge as this. For all I know he could still be in high school. This sort of logical evaluating lead to a much different train of thought. As in: Why could I think logically at all?

It certainly didn't feel like a normal dream; in my dreams I was never in control. Everything always melted and frothed about, as if I was looking through foggy glass. I could only sit and enjoy the ride, only feel my emotions of either content or fright worm their way into my subconscious.

This could only mean that I was hallucinating. But it was a very realistic hallucination; I could see the students' elaborate art nailed to billboards, smell the dust lining the tops of windowpanes (gave me a bloody headache) and hear the shouts of anger…

_Hold on. _

I looked up, noticing three men in neatly ironed white shirts and black ties with walkie-talkies velcroed to their belts rushing up to meet me. One sported a plug shaped hairline and posh-looking fish lips. The second was so short I at first mistook him for a midget (or dwarf, if we're being prickly today). The last one trailed a bit behind the others, unsure of what to do. He was wearing a different colored tag on his shirt that suggested his occupation of trainee.

Now, I've had men in uniform run at me before.

With the whole 'you speak Japanese and I don't' problem, I wasn't sure if they were friend or foe.

By their looks of alarm and fast pace; I was going to make an educated guess.

After dashing into an unlocked room, I slammed the door shut behind me and sprinted for all I was worth. The room was a type of lecture hall that could easily have seated 600 students.

With nothing but a blackboard to meet me, I turned a hard right and raced up the wide, carpeted staircase between the rows of desks.

I heard a CLICHE sound as one man began shouting rapidly into his walkie-talkie.

I jumped up the stairs two at a time and fell through the double doors that resided at the summit. Stumbling out into yet another long passage. I didn't take the time to take a look around whilst every predator vs. prey instinct kicked in.

Not taking in my surroundings was a mistake, however, because I nearly ran into eight more reinforcements. I skidded to a stop and looked behind me, and then in front. It was eleven against one.

"Did you guys multiply or something?"

One man pointed his oh-so-scary walkie-talkie at me and demanded something with a severe tone.

Treading carefully towards the group of three, I nodded and hung my head apologetically. "I'm so sorry, I didn't me—"

I charged them.

The security guards hopped out of the way like startled chickens.

I laughed and waved back at them. "Sayonara suckers!"

My laugh was cut short as I collided with a door at the end of the hallway.

I bashed my forehead and recoiled backwards. I fell on my ass and held my hand up to my head. _Ugh, that was lame…_

The echoes of shined shoes allowed me to recall that Security was still hot on my tail.

With much less bravado, I reached warily up for the length of the handle and used it to stand while simultaneously swinging open the door. I hobbled inside and turned the lock behind me.

The room was pitch-black.

I took a cautious step forward. I retracted a foot sharply and winced as it met with cold metal. I blinked a few times, allowing my eyes to adjust. There _was _light, coming from tiny holes in the steel floor.

I moved forward further and pushed a deep red curtain that was obscuring my vision to the side.

I was on a cat-walk.

Black metal crisscrossed back and forth, lined with double railings and cables. Stage lights hung from the rafters, illuminating specks of dust and streamed into the space below.

It was hot and stuffy; an unrelenting buzz filled the air from the electric box on the far end.

I stepped softly and leaned over the railing. My chin sat on my knuckles and my right leg lifted up slightly as I gazed into a gigantic auditorium. Sections of seating were squares upon the floor and jutting inclines. Whispers emanated from a sea of heads. The speakers in the ceiling blared as a man's voice projected into the crowd from onstage.

THUMP

I turned to the door.

THUMP

My ears pricked up. The voice droned on. _"Yagami Light…Hideki Ryuga." _

Clapping ensued.

CRACK

The wood around the lock splintered as the security guards (with the help of a garbage can) broke through. The one in front held up the refuse disposal as his only weapon. His buddies behind him shouted words of support.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Sup?"

The men rushed forward, arms outstretched.

I scampered in the opposite direction.

No one noticed the bright red WARNING sign about the weight limit.

CREEEEEEEK

Out of no where the entire balcony plummeted several inches. The eleven security guards cried out, their arms whipping their fellows in the faces as they scrambled for something to hold on to.

In mid-stride, my body lurched sideways. I felt my ankles knock into each other and lock.

Before I knew what had happened, I slipped over the railing.

Down three stories.

The walls of my throat clamped shut and my heart jumped out of my chest. The cat-walk was fast receding from my line of vision.

Like blades on a wind-mill, my arms and legs spun in wide circles. I tumbled head over heels. Red liquid filled my mouth as my teeth bit down on the tip of my tongue.

_What a stupid way to die. _

My right leg snapped back at the knee, my spine seemed to jerk up a couple of notches as my fall was abruptly brought to a standstill.

A GASP rang through the crowd.

I spit out strands of hair and shook my head much like a dog would after getting wet.

I could almost hear an umpire shouting _"SAFE!"_

_Saved…_

My breathing began to slow.

Thousands of whispers chorused, rumors were formed in an instant. The students shifted about, leaning over chairs and filling in onlookers who hadn't caught the spectacle.

A cord from a suspended stage-light had wrapped around my leg as I tipped over the edge, halting my fatal descent at the last minute. My body swung back and forth, my arms hung past my head limply.

Someone's upside down face came into view.

I gulped down the blood that had pooled beneath my tongue.

Combed coffee-colored hair, a concerned but somehow irritated look in his eyes, unblemished and healthy skin...

Light Yagami.

THE Light Yagami.

The first thing that came to mind was…"Awesome." I whispered. My eyes lit up. "Wow, like, WOW. It's is GREAT to meet you, uh, sir!" My voice rose alongside my excitement. I snatched his hand and started shaking it rapidly, nodding my head up and down and smiling wildly.

I had nothing against Light. Sure, he was a BIT insane, and yes he was a mass serial killer bent on world domination. But what was Edward without Envy? Or Dark without Krad? Or Inuyasha without Sesshomuru?

Light was the other half of the story, the dark genius prodigy with a God complex. That bored teenager who came across a notebook.

And he was just a fictional character, right?

"English." Light muttered to himself. He gestured kindly. "I believe you've given the faculty and student body quite the scare. Would you like me to help you down?"

"You know I _was _just going to hang here all day, but if you insist."

I let him wrap one arm around my waste and untangle my leg from the life-saving entrapment. He heaved a grunt and flipped me back on my feet.

Light took a step back, giving me some air.

I tottered slightly, feeling slightly dizzy.

Committee members were speaking quietly on their cell phones at a million miles an hour just offstage.

"Phew! I really thought I was a goner!" I laughed, scratching the back of my head.

When I looked up my smile faded.

Light was staring at me incredulously, as if I was a struggling fly in his pea soup.

When our gaze's met, his expression quickly modified from one of disdain to a bewildered surprise. He gestured towards his chest. "I am Light Yagami, repre—_one _of the representatives of this year's Class at To-Oh University."

"Right."

He waited patiently, but I didn't show any signs of responding. He made a strained grin seem effortless, especially towards the dirt-covered high school kid who fell randomly into Opening Ceremonies.

He held out his hand in a semblance of peace. "And you are?"

It was that precise movement of his shoulder that made me catch someone else's eye.

The hunched back… loose clothing hanging off shrugged shoulders…a chaos of muddled black hair…

_Oh my…_

_End of Chapter 2_


	3. Physics

**Thanks again for the happy thoughts. :)**

**Chapter 3**

_VICTORY!_

An image of the globally-adored super detective jumped into my mind. He was standing up on a pedestal, a cloak of red velvet tied around his neck billowing in a non-existent wind. He wore a crooked crown that tilted ever so slightly and glowed with a nearly blinding light. Pink diamonds sparkled around his figure and choir music could be heard in the background.

The crowd could more or less see my bogus interpretation of the slouchy student. Several of them grimaced.

I could feel the entire crowd sweat drop.

_How come I'm the only one who can't figure that out…?_

My thoughts filled with one thing and one thing only while I stared over Light's shoulder. Hundreds of images filled my head: the quirks, the intellectual vocab, the shocker and cute moments.

It all came crashing down on top of me.

Unconsciously I opened my mouth and breathed, "_L_…"

Light stiffened.

Reality rushed up and grabbed me by the brain, rattling it around. A gong seemed to sound in the distance, awakening me from my trance.

Light had just asked for a name.

And I had given him one, but it wasn't my name, not by a long-shot.

_Oh crap! _I could have torn my hair out at the roots. _That was so STUPID! Oh man, oh man..._

Light was staring at me, completely at a loss for words. I wasn't sure if he had registered what I said, or if he was waiting for me to point to a camera and say _"You've just been pranked!"_

I started to panic. _I did NOT just out L! What do I do? _The situation brought butterflies to my stomach. My thoughts were whirring at a million miles an hour. I needed a quick fix.

I started stumbling over my words, trying to buy some time. "Uh, L…uhhh…L…uhhh." I blinked. _That's it! _"L-UH! Ella!" And then I went and said the most ridiculous thing that popped into my head. I don't know why I said it, perhaps the pressure got to me.

I snapped my fingers. "…Krispy. My name is Ella Krispy!" I nodded rightly.

_Smooth one._

"Krispy?" Light stated weakly.

I put my hands on my hips, immediately defensive of my brand new alias. Who didn't like Snap, Crackle and Pop? (Though I'm more of a toast person) "Yeah, like Rice Krispy. You got a problem with that?" My gaze shifted back to the stooped individual to my far right.

Light held his hands up in front of him. "Hold on for a mom—"

I pushed his elbow out of the way. It wasn't personal or anything.

I was just incredibly distracted.

"Yeah…sure…thanks, Light." I mumbled absentmindedly and walked right past him.

My body felt heavier with each step, a little voice at the back of my head goaded me on. Beginning quietly and upping the volume the closer I got. _Go, Sydney. Go, Sydney. Go, Sydney! GO, SYDNEY! _

The nearer I dared the more familiar he became. Like those memorable deep circles beneath his eyes, relaying many sleepless nights. And a lack of hours in direct sunlight clearly shown by his ghost of a complexion, he was even paler in the artificial light.

There were other things though. Things I never would have noticed flipping through the crisp volumes or intently watching each episode.

As I drew closer, I observed that he never committed to any unnecessary movement. He wasn't still as a statue, but it was as if everything was calculated, even blinking. He hardly seemed to breathe in and out at all, like he didn't feel the need for oxygen. His elbows stuck out peculiarly as he slipped his hands in his pockets, the motion graceless but fluid.

I stood awkwardly in front of one of the most beloved characters of all fandom. Everything else was drowned out, the rustling of the students and the car horns outside.

There was only L.

His inquiring gaze enwrapped around every inch of me. It made me feel very, very small.

I was being studied.

I felt the tips of my ears tinge red. I stared down at his sneakers; they were a cheap grey with the laces left alone, unbothered.

My fingers twitched at my sides. I tried to work up the courage to do something. Anything! A hello would have sufficed. But my tongue seemed to swell to twice its size. I couldn't force my lips to form words. My mind maintained a white nothingness, a blank slate.

_I can't stand here forever!_

"Keh—" I shut my eyes tightly and swung my torso forward, bent double. I bowed as deeply as my back would allow. "It's a total honor, Hideki Ryuga!" I shouted, remembering at the last second to use his current alias instead of 'L.'

I paused in the silence. I looked up nervously, my fingers still twisting and rubbing against my clammy palms.

L looked down at me for a moment; he then brought one hand from the caverns of his pocket and pressed his thumb against his lip. He tilted forward slightly, awning over me. He opened his mouth and—

Said some gibberish in Japanese.

It felt like a ten pound rock had fallen on my head. I leaned away from him. The tongue-tied feeling washed off of me like a flash flood. I waved my arms in front of me, expressing my frustration. "Oh come on! Stop messing with me already! I _know_ you speak English!"

His thumb flicked across his lip and landed at the tip of his chin. L tilted his head to the side, suddenly immersed in thought. His bullet-hole eyes flicked back to me. "And how, would you happen to know that?" His voice was a lot deeper than I expected, with an eloquence tapered to every hum and vibration.

My eyes shifted from side to side, no answer formed in my head.

_One person should not be allowed to look so cool!_

I had let L purposely lead me into a trap. With him watching me, I no longer felt the silliness of a hallucination or the enjoyment from my imagination. Things suddenly seemed serious. It made me reluctantly catch my tongue.

Well what was I supposed to say? That he and the thousands of people in the room were just characters in a Japanese series called Death Note? That I had watched every episode? Is that really the explanation you would want to use when being stared down by the world's greatest detective?

My mouth opened, about to sputter a lot of unintelligible nonsense about him being the top student or something so of _course _he would know English. Sorely, I was interrupted before I could even start.

A chorus of bellows cried out behind me.

I didn't get the chance to turn around and assess who had made the noise, because eleven bedraggled security guards out for revenge decided to tackle me. Security hit me like a mass of sand-bags with payback in mind. My chin smacked against the floor and they all flung themselves on top of the pile, filled with adrenaline as they tasted their triumph.

The entire student body winced and voiced an "OOH!"

I was trapped at the bottom of the dog-pile, the life being squished out of my lungs. I moaned. My hand reached for fresh air from beneath the sweaty bodies. It twitched for mercy.

It got a cold metal bracelet clipped around the wrist.

The guards stood up one by one, clapping each other on the backs and gloating in their victory. As if taking out a distracted teenage girl was an accomplishment to be celebrating over.

They didn't start jumping in the air and high-fiving.

But it was a very near thing.

One man grabbed me roughly by the forearm and started to drag me to the left of the stage where a portable, metal staircase was mounted. I brushed by Light, my bare arm sweeping the fabric of his suit.

I looked over my shoulder, back at a stand-alone L. His thumb was back on his lip, he seemed almost thoughtful as he watched me being dragged off to whatever fate lay ahead.

A bubbly feeling erupted in my chest, the kind that forces me into fits of fan-girl squeals at amazingly cute moments in some of the series I tended to escape into. (We're all guilty of it at some point or another)

Even if this was just a dream.

I couldn't help it.

I beamed him a toothy grin.

**Continued…**

So life had gotten a little on the dull side.

I glared at the busy office portrayed in front of me, my lips in a full-on pout. I fidgeted on the bench, crossing and re-crossing my legs. The feeble chain attached to my wrist clinked against the arm-rest.

Secretaries answered several calls at once, one man chattered away on his Bluetooth. A few officers sipped coffee; the beginning signs of a tiresome night-shift. Stacks of papers and unopened folders lined the desks. The sound of keyboards being punched clicked and clattered in my ears. The whole place reeked of ink and a brand new paint smell.

"Let's try this again, Ella."

The man sitting across from me flipped back through the scribbles in his notebook. I assumed this was for professional appearances only, since there couldn't have been much to write about.

"You're a North-American tourist, separated from your parents during their business trip?"

"Sure."

He nodded. "Uh-huh, uh-huh. What business was that again?"

"Leakey Faucet's Plus."

"Hmmm...I see, there's our problem right there. No business trip has been organized by Leakey Faucet's Plus. We checked."

I gave a mock gasp. "My own parent's _lied _to me? I had no id—"

"Nor is there any trace of an Ella Krispy in any flight records leading to Japan in the last six months. We checked that too."

I held my tongue. This guy was dedicated to his job, I'd give him that. He'd been interrogating me on and off all day. Stopping every so often to check up on his facts or make a trip to the vending machines (wouldn't share a single pretzel with me either, apparently _delinquents _weren't given the privilege of salty snackage) or to deal with other 'clients'.

I swung my legs up on the bench. It was awkward to lie down with my wrist still cuffed to the arm-rest, but I managed to slip my arm behind my head and stare up at the ceiling. It looked as though I was one of those people lying on a couch in a therapy session, about to spill my guts to a total stranger.

I pressed the back of my free hand to my forehead and sighed dramatically.

"You're right. It's all been a lie! In truth I'm a Korean spy disguised as an ignorant Canadian tourist from Leaky Faucet's Plus. I plan to take down the government by early Autumn. Just take me to lock-up and shut me away forever!"

The investigator stood up sharply and looked down at me. "If you refuse to give us your identity you know where you'll end up, don't you?"

I fell silent. Of course I knew, and it certainly wasn't a nice place. Let's just say: Lot's of concrete, not enough throw pillows.

He cleared his throat with a huffiness that could not be ignored. "You think about it. I'll be back to hear your answer." He turned his back to me.

"Wait a sec, pal," I rolled over and tapped him on the leg, "you think you could get me some grub? I'm starving!"

"Sure! I'll get right on that." He _sounded_ sincere, kind, and in a helpful mood.

"Really?" I leaned forward, hope filling my empty stomach.

"No." The man said sharply. He grumbled something about too much overtime, slipped his notepad in his inside jacket pocket and walked off.

I fell back and pretended to study a rather boring cobweb on the ceiling. _Jerk…_

After waiting two full minutes; I craned my neck around, checking to make sure the coast was clear. The investigator was out of sight, everyone else sat behind their tiny cubicles, writing off paperwork and what not. All were much too busy to pay attention to foreign little me.

Sitting up, I rubbed my nose with my knuckles and sniffed.

Time to implement my grand escape plan.

The metal chain between each handcuff was tested with 500 points of pressure during the manufacturing process. After that a man would check the fasteners by hand to make sure their mechanisms weren't flawed. (One of the four channels we get in my apartment is the Discovery Channel, don't judge me.)

What they didn't count on was the person in cuffs applying a little bit of physics.

By physics I mean: stick the key in the lock, and turn.

The guy hadn't even noticed me pinch that key off him when I asked for something to eat. Honestly, and he calls himself an investigator.

Most handcuffs could be opened by a universal key that came with every package, and a good amount of officers carried one of these keys along with other tools of the trade on their utility belts.

The guy should count himself lucky I didn't go for his gun. Most people weren't aware that you have to push the weapon down into the officer's holster and then roll it forward in order for it to release from a latch at the bottom. I of course, did know this fact (again, more Discovery Channel).

But guns weren't my style.

The lock opened with a CLICK and I shook my restraint off with ease, rubbing the sore red ringlet around my wrist I winced. The metal had been cutting into my skin for hours.

I placed the key safely into my pocket, you never knew when something like that could come in handy.

With a loud and sorrowful exhale, I made my way around the edge of the office to the front desk. Unable to resist, I patted the wood and the receptionist looked up from his crossword.

I pointed to my captor across the room, who was currently flirting with a female officer that had just returned from a surveillance mission.

"Do me a favor. Tell that guy that Ella Krispy is checking out, ok?" I winked and pushed open the front doors.

I started with a leisurely stroll, and then a fast walk, when I turned the corner I didn't stop running until the Police Station was long out of sight.

**Later on…**

Worst-hallucination-EVER!

Why the change of heart?

Cold sheets of water pounded at me from above, the wind was blowing the rain sideways and soaking me from head to toe. I hugged myself tightly, my head bent downwards as I struggled through the storm.

The streets were clear of most activity; many pedestrians had taken shelter at bus stops or bars. Street lights were already lit, their tiny glows barely noticeable through the walls of water parading down from the heavens.

The sky was a deviant grey. Many drains were backed up by garbage causing streams of water to rush alongside the curbs.

I squinted through my shield of hair, my toes were now turning from a pale blue to a dangerous purple. My lips shivered as I cursed. I needed to get out of this storm or I'd likely freeze to death.

That and I was seriously hungry.

I was beginning to doubt this was a dream. Or even some drug induced delusion! I had yet to wake up from this nightmare, and things were getting messy. I was at my wits end. If this _wasn't _a hallucination, then that only left the alternative…

_No. No. It's too impossible. I need to get with reality!_

A man hurried by, his one hand gripping his black umbrella tightly. The impermeable fabric tried to rip free of its metal skeleton as the wind billowed mercilessly from three directions at once.

He was hunched over, so I almost didn't catch his face.

Realization cut through me like a knife. I spun on my heels, slipping in the puddles pooling at my feet and hitting the pavement at a run. I collided with his back and squeezed my arms around him tightly, lifting him clear off his feet.

"Matsuda!"

_End of Chapter 3_

Exams coming up. Slacking off is all good and fun, until you realize you've slept through just about every unit.

Procrastination, it's a gift.


	4. Major Migraine

**Chapter 4**

I. Am. So. Lucky.

Digging my head into Matsuda's off-the-rack suit I lifted him clear off the ground and hugged him for all I was worth. Every heart-racing chase, every sore cut and scrape, every cold raindrop and blackened bruise—I poured them all into that single squeeze.

"You're even better life size!" I shouted.

You could always count on Matsuda to show up. Even if you were lost somewhere deep within Tokyo city, in the middle of the night with thunder crashing down on top of you, he never failed to pop in at exactly the right moment.

Made me feel a whole lot better, let me tell you.

The flabbergasted detective, on the other hand, didn't take it too well.

Matsuda's umbrella clattered to the ground as giant shivers ran up his back. He started wiggling like an eel and craning his neck around to try and catch a good look of his assailant.

He managed to choke out a sentence. "You're…squishing….me." Barely getting the English drabble out through his flattened lungs.

My eyes shot open.

Whoops.

"I am so sorry!" I let him slip to his feet and began brushing him off at the shoulders. I really liked Matsuda. He was more like a mascot than anything else, cheering the rest of the task force on. I wouldn't have been surprised if he was their usual on coffee runs (I bet you he volunteered for it too). Although, Matsuda did had a few big moments that defined his character here and there, showing how cute or brave or determined he was.

It made him even more adorable.

Matsuda spun around and took a couple of shocked steps away from me. "I don't know about America, but embracing strangers in public is not—"

"Canadian, but this is great! You're exactly the person I needed!" I could hardly keep myself from jumping up and down in excitement. The rush of coincidence buzzed through my veins in the form of a pumping adrenaline rush.

"I-I am?" Matsuda began to look about, searching for his umbrella. He kept glancing back at me, as if I was about to pull a metal pipe out from behind my back and smack him on the temple with it any second.

"YES!" I punched the air, enthralled with my discovery. This would fix everything. Fictional or not, L was a genius, probably the smartest person in the entire world.

And now I had the means to find him.

I hopped from foot to foot and clicked my tongue against chattering teeth. Getting handcuffed was totally worth it. "Matsuda, you can take me to L!" I cried, absolutely ecstatic with the idea.

Having found his umbrella, Matsuda's fingers fumbled and it fell to the ground once again, rolling slowly and stopping next to a gutter. Grimy water washed up against it before alternating its route and cascading down into the sewage system.

The pattering of raindrops became more defined in Matsuda's silence, clear and loud, like crystals.

He opened and closed his mouth, staring at me, absolutely dumbfounded. His eyes flicked back and forth, searching for a plausable explanation.

I could see it dawn on him, and I watched with a sinking feeling in my gut as he switched to security mode without a moment to spare. Just like he had been ordered to do in exactly these types of situations.

Soaked umbrella forgotten, he straightened and covered his uneasiness with a reassuring smile. He took another step backwards, this time slowly. "I…I think you've got the wrong person! I'm not involved with that sector—"

No way was I losing this chance, not in a million years. "Don't be silly, Matsuda! You've got a cell, right? Ring him up for me." I reasoned.

He held his hands up to his forehead, trying to think of a way to ditch me without completely ignoring his gentleman instincts. "L-Listen, if you're in any trouble, I can direct you to the nearest police station and…h-hey!"

I had begun circling Matsuda, not like a famished tiger shark, but more in the semblance of a curious chicken. Bobbing my head up and down I patted down his suit vigorously, searching for the cell I knew was there.

Before Matsuda could protest, I whipped open his jacket. "AH-HA!" I seized the tiny silver device from his inside pocket quick as a cat and held it up in front of me like a trophy, admiring its worth.

With wide eyes I held Matsuda at bay with one hand as he made a valiant attempt to snatch his hand-held back. Using lightning fast fingers only a thief possessed I changed the settings to English and scrolled down the list of contacts in no time flat.

I wiped a couple of raindrops off the glowing blue screen with my thumb, gaping at the name highlighted there. For some reason I felt very out of breath. All my exploits of the day must have been catching up with me, all leading to this moment.

I read it over again, just to make sure.

_Ryuzaki._

With an increasing feeling of purpose, I clicked the CALL button.

The cell phone began to ring.

_Brilliant. _

"Here you go." I tossed it back to Matsuda, success and anticipation playing on my lips.

He held the cell phone awkwardly, looking at it in the scoop of his palms, and then up at me.

"Well go on, say hello! Tell him Ella Krispy wants a word, oh, and try to keep it English, for my benefit, ok?"

He halfheartedly lifted the phone up to his ear.

I leaned in close and cocked my ear, listening intently to their conversation.

"Umm…Sir?"

"_Matsui, this line is for emergencies only." _

I beamed at the digitized voice. _Yup, emergency, that's me._

"Yes, I know that, sir. But there's this girl—"

I cupped my hands around my mouth. "Ella Krispy's the name! It's me! Remember?"

Matsuda winced.

The digital voice paused.

I waited.

"_I do not recall ever meeting an Ella Krispy."_

It felt like I had just been thrown down a never-ending well with no hope of crawling back out. _How could he just forget…_Little red veins popped up on the back of my head in irritation. _This guy…_

I grabbed the phone from Matsuda and shouted into it. "Stop messing with me! Of course you know who I am! I fell out of the bloody sky!"

"_I haven't the foggiest."_

Did he think this was a joke? Since when does the great 'L' use words like '_the foggiest'? _I've been walking for miles in the rain in the dark in an unknown city and he was trying to be _funny_?

My voice lowered to a dangerous level. "Ok Mr. Ryuzaki, you want to play games? Fine with me." I nodded to myself, gathering up the nerve.

This could backfire badly. I've seen what L could do to a person. He could ignore their civil rights and freedoms, take them away and lock them up forever. He could interrogate with any method, control and watch everything you did, eliminate any notion of the word privacy.

The whole world was left in an explosive turmoil from Kira's murders. The people were confused, quivering and cowering in the dark. World leaders would give him anything he wanted, as long as he promised allegiance.

L remained their only shining light.

Making him the most powerful man on the planet.

_Fasten your seat belt, L. It's about to get personal. _

I took a deep breath, and spoke softly into the speaker. Only audible enough so he alone could hear me. I whispered those two little words, as if my voice carried cartloads of explosive arsenal, all aimed directly at him.

I hoped I'd made an impact.

_Checkmate._

I stared across the street into a busy pub. It was a multi-lingual tourist spot. People having escaped the rain untied their coats; they drank and laughed with each other, letting the stuffy air and beer warm their blood.

I bet none of them—not the cocktail waitress expecting that long awaited promotion or those business men striking a thirty-two million dollar deal, not the couple making out unseen in the corner or the eight boys getting past the front door with fake I.D's—none of them could feel the same thrill and exhilaration that was bouncing throughout my bones.

I was practically glowing.

I could tell he hadn't been expecting _that _key bit of knowledge_. _The idea that I had taken L by surprise filled me with courage.

I went on. "Clever really, the way you've hidden it. Genius, in fact. Right under everyone's noses…" I let it hang there. My heart started beating faster and faster.

"_Where did you acquire that information?"_

"That is a stumper, isn't it?" I twisted a strand of my hair thoughtfully; coiling it around my finger and letting it bounce back.

How would the great L react?

The glass in the pub fogged up, the air outside became colder as the rain began to settle. Remnants of the downpour dripped from my matted hair and numb fingers.

"_Are you threatening me, Miss Krispy? I suggest you choose your words carefully, I am not someone to be toyed with."_

"No need to get edgy, I'm here to help not to hurt." I turned slowly and looked up at Matsuda. "And I know how much you want to win." I said with a goading hint hidden within the tone of my voice. I had made up my mind, until I regained my sanity I'd take part in this crazy dream, just for a little while. I had a deck full of aces hidden up my sleeve; I wasn't going to waste them. "Believe me, I'm your best shot."

I had to wait a full minute for his reply.

"_Please hand the cell phone back to Matsuda."_

Obediently, and with great reluctance, I let Matsuda take his property back (a phenomenon in itself).

The conversation that ensued was short and sweet—and in Japanese. No doubt in code too, just in case I could understand the lingo. I think Matsuda protested at one point, but was quickly silenced. I was busy squinting up into the black sky. All of the storm clouds had drifted, but the stars weren't visible against the orange glow of the city.

_Just like home…with all the busy cars and early morning smog and lights that never dim…_

Matsuda clapped the phone shut and I snapped out of my daydream. "I guess you're coming with me then." His voice squeaked with surprise (he hadn't expected his boss to say yes) as he started to cross the street, he glanced back at me. "What are you waiting for?"

I stood in a puddle, still as stone. My mouth quivered. I raised an arm, and pointed at the pub window.

Matsuda swiveled around.

The bar—that had so recently been filled with laughter and delight—was now buzzing with screaming customers who were knocking over chairs and shattering glasses.

Matsuda, with all the concern and thoughtlessness that one can only be born with, ran for the entrance. He dipped and ducked past escaping citizens and burst through the front doors.

I watched for a moment, my heart thrummed like a hummingbird's wings against my chest.

A head exploding wasn't something you see everyday.

Blood was spattered all over the pub window, swathing the olive-colored words stickied to the glass in red. Instead of it reading GILLIGAN'S, it only showed IGAN'S.

I felt the urge to turn and run with all the frightened people who were pushing past me. That old fight or flight instinct, I suppose mine was the latter. _Nothing shameful in hightailing it, just leave. I just have to leave. _My cold feet were itching badly, begging me to get the hell out of there. My fingers trembled, pinching the fabric of my pants.

_Breathe. _

I gulped, curled my shaking hands into fists and launched myself into a run. I dashed across the street, leapt over the curb and blasted through the pub doors.

Now was not the time to be a gutless chicken. Now was the time to be bold, daring, to be a hero. Now was the time to—

"OW!"

I hobbled to an abrupt stop and grabbed my left foot. I hopped in place and cursed, my big toe throbbed painfully. The bar stool I just ran into rolled to a halt, looking devilishly proud with its darkly stained wood.

Now was the time to get shoes.

While I was preoccupied with jumping up and down, my one good foot slipped into something wet. At first I thought it was spilt beer from the earlier stampede. Except for the small yet painfully important detail of it being warm.

Revolted, I lurched away from the red puddle, my bare feet leaving thin imprints of the liquid on the floor. I choked the feeling of vomit back down my throat. Once I felt I had control, I unsteadily stepped over the blood splatters and stood next to the remains.

The stench was unexpected.

He was sporting a pinstriped suit and suede shoes. A golden pocket watch had slipped out of his vest. The clock rested on his chest, I couldn't quite make out the inscription engraved into the surface. The metal shimmered bleakly.

I won't go into detail. I still have nightmares of the image to this day. I'm certain it will never completely leave me. All you need to know is that the man, who was lying at a peculiar angle on the floor, did not have a head.

Matsuda was trying to hide his own distress and question the bartender at the same time. The bartender was wiping his forehead with a checkered handkerchief again and again, his knuckles brushed against his auburn sideburns. His other hand tapped the bar's surface in beats of three. His fuzzy mustache drooped, imitating his fatigue.

"I've been working here for fifteen years, and not once has a single customer's head e-exploded!" His Scottish swooped rudely through the air like a pendulum. "W-what am I going to do? I'll be shut down for good!"

I crouched down next to whatshisname's body without much concern and scrunched up my nose. Looking him up and down, I frowned. To Matsuda's loud objections, I unbuttoned his vest and turned the flap over. A silver magnum gleamed in its holster, winking up at me.

Now what sort of man walked around with suede shoes, carried a priceless pocket watch and a gun?

The bartender was right; peoples' heads didn't just explode at random.

Someone did this.

Three guesses who.

_End of Chapter 4_

Goodbye Exams, hello summer school. What a life, huh?


	5. BANG

**Chapter 5**

Dive through glittering purple clouds and enter cavernous mouths of iniquity. Escape into the reflection, twisted and deformed from deeds long past. Collapse that last morsel of human merit while welcoming wicked fiends into your heart. Hands of the hour will crumble in the fiery gusts. Forget. From dreams to nightmares, we wander.

"How can she sit there next to it?"

It, the bartender had said. Not a he. Far easier to see a corpse as a thing or a memory than another human being. A faceless, nameless and frozen bag of bones. Just a mannequin who lost its limbs somewhere along the way from the department store.

"It's creepy, I tell you. Aren't you going to do something, officer?" The bartender had stopped wiping his forehead. He was now picking up broken glass, busying his hands with anything to keep him sane.

My eyes trailed across the dead man's figure, from his feet to his shoulders. I sat back and tapped my fingers against my cheek. "It's not his style," I mumbled to myself, "too gruesome. So why…?"

Light was all about making some noise. He killed criminals in a continuous pattern, stopping their hearts one by one. He put a label on their deaths, _his label_. Why would he veer from his comfort zone? Why explode a head?

Unless he _wanted _to try something new?

I sucked on my cheek and thought back, rewinding each episode in my mind's eye. It wasn't always a heart attack, but only for special cases. Only when he was planning something, wasn't it? Only for…

I ground my teeth together and glanced down at the recently deceased. With a drained moan I rubbed my eyes, as if trying to smear my drowsiness back into the far reaches of my brain. "You were an experiment, weren't you?"

People could be so horrible.

I smoothed my hair back and got to my feet. My knees groaned like rusty door hinges and I arched my back, trying to twist the kinks out. People didn't carry around concealed weapons for fun. No doubt there would be a few bullets missing in his casing. Maybe he deserved it…I glanced up at the pieces of head stuck to the ceiling…maybe not.

Besides, I can't start thinking like that now. I wasn't perfect, I'd done things I wasn't proud of (Ok, perhaps I was proud of a few). That didn't mean I deserved to have my brain matter painted on the walls, and neither did he.

"Ella?"

I turned around.

Matsuda gestured kindly and took another step forward. "Your name was Ella, right?"

The Scotsman had one eyebrow spiked high in the air, the green tinge on his cheeks visible around the sideburns. My standing so close to the body for further inspection was obviously not appreciated by the men in the room.

_What babies! _I blew a strand of disobedient hair out of my face and nodded.

Matsuda seemed to hesitate, as if this was terribly awkward for him. "Do you want to sit down?"

_Do I look like his granny or something? _I put my hands on my hips. "Is this because I'm a girl?"

"What? No! Of course not! I just thought-"

Sirens interrupted Matsuda and raced down the street, growing louder the closer they came. Red and blue lights lit up the room through the window like a Christmas tree. Tires skidded to a halt in front of the pub.

I snapped to attention at the sound of the police cars (old habits die hard) and crept towards the front door. This time I stepped _over_ the bar stool. My nose brushed the wooden doorframe as I peered out into the street.

My heart sunk all the way down to the soles of my feet. "That's so unfair…" I murmured.

A tall cop flicked his cigarette to the curb and stomped on it. He whipped out his notepad of doom and started scribbling fiercely.

It was the investigator. The same one I had skipped out on back at the police station.

_Figures._

I slowly walked backwards, keeping my eyes on the front door. "Mr. Bartender, is there another way out of here?"

"Sure, fire exit. But why…?"

I bumped into Matsuda and curled my fingers around his wrist. "Matsuda, we need to leave."

He gave me an appalled look. "W-we can't just run away from a crime scene!"

"Matsuda, your job is to take me to," I glanced at the bartender, "you know who. If that man outside catches me I won't be going nowhere for a very long time." Little by little I pulled Matsuda towards the other side of the room.

"I have a civil duty to protect the people!"

"Screw civil duty! That guy's head just burst like a balloon and I'm going to be suspect numero uno if we don't get out of here!" I tugged on Matsuda's sleeve with great effort, he was being quite stubborn. "Listen, I know you're a good guy and all, so I'm sorry for this." I stepped in front of Matsuda and twisted the handle as if about to open it for him. I placed my hand on his back and shoved him through the door and into the back alley.

Matsuda stumbled down the landing and smacked into a large garbage bin with a THUNK.

The second the latch clicked open a fire alarm began to squeal at a deafening decimal.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, as if someone just hit me with a taser square in the back of my head. The sensation urged me to turn around. I spun like a top and took one last look into the pub, completely prepared for any headless zombies on the prowl.

The investigator, standing with a puzzled look on his face, had one foot through the front door.

He also had a gun pointed at me.

I suddenly wished more than anything in the entire world that I was Neo. I raised my hands behind my head and grinned nervously. "Good to see you again, sir."

"I'm sorry to say that I am not so pleased to see _you_ here. You do realize you nearly cost me my job." He took a slow step inside, looking at the bartender oddly and then at me with disdain. "What did you have to do with," he cleared a great glob of mucus from the back of his throat, "this?" He nodded his head towards the man on the floor.

"No need to point fingers…or guns, for that matter. You obviously _didn't_ lose your job and I'm just a victim here, really. So let's be friends and call it square, how about it?"

"Don't move. You, Ella _Krispy_, are under arrest."

I rolled my eyes. "Like I haven't heard that one before." Twisting my foot in a snake-like motion along the floor, I lifted my leg up and caught the edge of the round table with my toes. I snapped my leg outwards and kicked the table across the room at the investigator.

While he was busy with flying furnishings, I would just slip out the door and—

BANG

A scream, more from shock than anything else, ripped past my teeth and erupted through the air. Tears boiled into my eyes and streamed down my face. I grabbed the side of my head and darted through the door. Clearing the steps in a single leap I yanked Matsuda down the alley with all the strength of a wounded rhino.

"I can't believe he shot me!" I shouted as we made it around the corner.

Matsuda grabbed me by the shoulders and stood in front of me with all the purpose of a brick wall. He lowered himself to my eye level. "Y-you're bleeding!"

I slammed my shoulder into his chest like a linebacker, but Matsuda wasn't budging. I tried to calm my breathing, using a trick I learned for pain a while back. I just had to focus on something else that had hurt more. There was plenty to pull from the pile. "It's fine. I'm fine."

"You're covered in blood! You are not fine!"

"It's not as bad as it looks, it's just a scratch."

The bullet had grazed the tip of my left ear, missing anything vital by literally millimeters. Blood had fallen down my cheek to my shoulder, coating the entire left half of my face and part of my tank top in red.

_Never been shot before, that's one to add to the books. _

What I really couldn't believe is that the investigator had actually shot at me. (His aim was also pretty unbelievable, he didn't look like the kind of cop who hit the firing range too often). Firing at all broke all kinds of regulations and procedures! He should have at least gone for the leg first, right? I was certain the guy was all about the rule book. Oh...

It had been an accident, the table I threw had caused the bullet to fire. It was my fault, all my fault. I brought it on myself.

Story of my life.

"We need to get you to a doctor!"

I stomped my foot (not the cleverest thing to do on concrete without a shoe, but I think I deserve a break here). "A doctor would complicate things!" I was an illegal immigrant as far as this country was concerned. It's not like I had a health card or insurance. The cops would probably catch me in the waiting room. I swiped his hand away and glared at the sidewalk. Blood was starting to drip onto the concrete. "You need to get me to L."

"But—"

"Matsuda, this is important. REALLY important…so please." I used my puppy dog face on him (Don't laugh! It's a surprisingly handy skill to have.)

Matsuda gulped and nodded. "Right, sorry."

(See! Handy, told you.)

As we ran I rummaged through my many zippered pockets and discovered a few unused Kleenexes. I crumpled them into a ball and held them tenderly to my ear, flinching with each step.

No one followed us, or if they did I didn't notice. It didn't take very long to reach our destination, only five minutes. But it felt longer, I was counting the seconds by each pang in my left temple. The throbbing had traveled across my face and made camp at the centre of my forehead. More tears bubbled to the surface but I quickly shook them away.

I wasn't going down in history like Van Gogh, this was just a shallow graze. All I needed was a band-aid and it'd scab up in a couple of days. No big deal.

I didn't notice Matsuda guide me through double glass doors or hurry past the elaborate lobby (though the giant fish tank was hard to ignore). I didn't take a second look at the woman behind the desk, who obviously knew better than to call the police on her bleeding clients. I barely noticed the elevator up until we stopped to wait for it to reach ground level.

The sudden lack of movement woke me from my daze. The Kleenex I was holding had long been soaked through. My ear hurt, my feet hurt, my everything hurt.

"I think I need an Advil." I muttered dryly.

I looked up at Matsuda's astonished expression.

"What? That's called _humor_." (Get it? Because Advil wouldn't do a thing to help with the...I'm just digging my own grave here aren't I? Cut me some slack! When YOU get shot and can pull off a proper joke call me and I'll give you a parade or something. Until then just laugh at everything I say, it makes me feel better.)

DING

I stood there for a moment until I realized Matsuda was waiting for me to enter the elevator first. I gaped at him, unable to comprehend why he was choosing this exact point in time to be a gentleman. He didn't have to be so nice to me. I clamped my mouth shut and stomped through the doors, allowing him whatever satisfaction he got from it.

Three walls of the elevator were made of glass, each one with a stainless steel rail bolted at waist height. Soft blue lights lit the fake marble-spotted floor. I leaned my elbows against the rail and sighed as the doors shut and Matsuda took a fidgety stance in the corner. He still thought he should have taken me to get immediate medical attention.

Finally, I was one step closer to reaching L. This felt like the longest day of my life. It seemed every time I got near him, something happened. I started to count them off one by one on my fingers: _I fall off a balcony, get squashed by a fleet of wannabe mall cops, caught in a thunderstorm and then some guy's head goes ka-boom across the street. Now this…_

I reached up and warily felt the little indent at the top of my ear. Maybe it'd look cool. I could get an earring, get initiated into a gang and then conquer the streets of Tokyo. I could even perfect my 'MWAHAHAHA' laugh.

_I don't know how many more life or death situations I can handle in twenty-four hours._

I leaned my forehead against the cold glass and looked out into the city. The rain was back, pitter-pattering away and blurring my vision. Yellow squares floated against deep blue skyscrapers as we rose higher and higher in the air. Tokyo was a lot prettier from this point of view, you couldn't see the homeless in their patched army jackets or young girls in the alley at work or the starving dogs rummaging through knocked over garbage cans. Only the rich in their sky rises with big screens and automatic blinds were visible, the less fortunate properly hidden away from sight.

Sometimes people earned what they had, it wasn't right to assume all of them were born into a life of luxury. I could stand to respect a handful that worked long and hard for the lives they have now. As long as they remembered where they came from, and to give back once in a while. I also knew many on the street were no better than the stories that stereotyped them, more than a few wasted their lives on gambling or getting their next hit or some other discrepency that did themselves and others harm.

But from my experience, life wasn't fair in the slightest.

CREAK…SHUNKA SHUNKA…THWUMP.

Blue lights were switched with a flashing red as the elevator eased to a halt.

"What now?" I turned to look up dryly at the digitized numbers above the door. "Matsuda, what floor are we on?"

"14, but this isn't right. It's supposed to go to 17. We've made an emergency stop but…I didn't push the button. Did you push the button?"

"Did you _see _me push the button?"

"No."

"Then there you go."

We turned to the intercom as a voice began to buzz with a rather noticeable sardonic intonation. I imagined an overweight gamer with glasses that were far too small for his face sitting in a dark room filled with security monitors. I even pictured him leaning in his spine-safe cushioned chair sipping on a slurpie and generally acting unconcerned for the two unlucky souls trapped in an elevator.

I gently leaned the back of my head against the glass and slid to the floor. "Matsuda, care to translate?" I started picking at some of the dried blood on my cheek.

Matsuda let his arms fall to his sides in disbelief. "There's been a maintenance problem! Of all the things…" He covered his eyes with his hands and sat down across from me. "They're working on it, but that could take hours!"

I inspected my fingernails, unrecognizable beneath the ruddy coating of grime. _Every time I get close…_

_End of Chapter 5_


	6. Cherise, Oh Sweet Cherise

**Chapter 6**

I banged my forehead against the glass wall for the twenty-third time in a row, ignoring the growing goose bump beginning to sprout directly between my eyes. I stared dully out into the city. The glittering lights from the traffic jam fourteen stories below no longer gave me soothing feelings of wonder and excitement. I think the flashing orange neon sign on the corner was mocking me and my lack of freedom in some obscure, orange way. I could hear the sound of club music from the alley behind the cultural foods restaurant rise over the thrumming of car engines on the street. Rings of bells from cycling messengers echoed through the night air as they made their evening rounds.

I suppose you're all wondering by now why I haven't broken down into a blubbering mess of aftershock from that bullet. Thing is, this wasn't the first time I had gotten into a near death experience (not even the first time today). Being shot at wasn't a foreign concept to me either. There was one point in my extensive and colorful career that I found myself hijacking a lovely couple's yacht and—well, let me tell you the story properly, from the beginning.

**Stories of New York, Entry #1**

I skipped along the outstretching dock, humming a carefree tune while weaving through posh looking sailors wearing spiffy white caps and sweater vests. The smell of gutted fish drifted from the warehouses down river, their stock having already arrived from out at sea. I could hear the thudding of knives and the crackling of tiny bones snap amongst the revving of rusty motors. No doubt my mates would have been working hard since the early hours of the morning (probably for less than adequate pay too, they never listen whenever I bring up the word 'union'). Kay Lee and One-Nostril Tod and Captain Marcus started every single day up to their elbows in fish guts, long before the sun even thought about rising above the backdrop of high-rises and the city awoke to the smell of pollution and pancake batter.

Behind large designer sunglasses I had picked up for myself from a rather careless woman who was too distracted by her dog (that had jumped out of her purse in pursuit of pigeons) to notice, my eyes watched with dire amusement at the crowd that had given their maids a break for the morning to go 'sailing.' There were two little girls with braids in their hair, standing at the shore with sour looks on their faces. The girls continued to refuse no matter how much their mother (wearing a lovely Sunday dress, I might add) begged on behalf of her husband, who had taken up the ridiculous hobby in the first place. The spoiled children were demanding compensation in the form of a new dollhouse before they stepped foot on any form of floating contraption.

My interest quickly dwindled as the girls began stomping their feet and screaming at the top of their tiny lungs. I looked to my right. There was a concession of girls (not much older than myself) who were making it their life's mission to strip down to their skivvies as sexily as possible in broad daylight. The large majority of them were blonde, as if one girl had made a snap decision to go gold or go home and the rest of her friends had followed suit. Two guys with haircuts that probably cost more than my entire month's rent were staring openly at the hot babes across from their speedster, thanking whatever god for the glorious invention of the bikini.

A man behind me aboard a humongous sailboat dropped a piece of rigging and shouted orders to his lazy friends, trying to snatch their already opened cans of beer from their hands. The harbor was filled with shiny new yachts; probably obtained from high class charity auctions, and motor boats with expensive paintjobs. The place was flooded with Italian loafers and Rolexes, which is why it's considered a pickpocket's heaven. The smarter swindlers would already have blended in with the crowd, shaking hands and purring compliments while they robbed their new 'friends' blind. The less than gifted criminals would be smoking behind the bait shop, eventually being chased away by the security guards before they even got the chance to see a single Gucci handbag.

Back at the warehouses the grinder roared as it diced up fish bones and gristle. Black smoke rose in sickly puffs from a cylinder stack above the shop, coughing like a grizzly old man on his death bed. Every Tuesday morning, stopping only to pick up some simmering hot dogs from the competing vendors on the corner of Main for my buddies, I would make my way over to their humble workplace and pitch in. I never once saw a single paycheck (no matter how many bins I hauled), which was fine with me. I consider Tuesday 'volunteer' day; my way of giving back to society (whom I've been stealing from all week). If I had ever been offered money (not likely) I would have used the extra cash to buy Captain Marcus' and his friends a round after their last shift. I had taken a liking to Captain Marcus and his stories of the sea and escape and freedom. I never got tired of listening to him tell his tales: escaping massive sharks, the eerie serenity inside the eye of a storm, waves that blocked out the sun. I'd sit attentively on the counter, scrubbing out bins and listening faithfully to his hardened and gruff voice. It was the perfect way to spend a morning.

But today wasn't Tuesday.

I took a quick swig from my soda, downing it in one gulp while ducking beneath a large blue cooler carried between two weedy looking lads whose kakis were too short for their gangly legs. Without breaking my stride I gripped the rail of my recently acquired, newly refurbished (complete with entertainment system and built in fridge) boat and swung up on deck. Technically, it's a 2003 model yacht. On the side of the vessel was the word, proudly painted in big loopy letters, 'Cherise'. The wax along the lining made the entire boat shimmer from the glittering reflections in the water. Tan leather seats trailed around the deck, including cup holders for polished glasses of champagne. The deck was made of a weather-proof hardwood flooring that continued onto the second level, ending at the steering wheel.

My eyes lit up and my stomach trilled, giving me the usual feeling of excitement whenever I lifted something particularly difficult. I had cased this place out for weeks, finally deciding upon this boat as my target. The real owners were away on their second honeymoon somewhere in the Australian outback, leaving their yacht free for the taking. I began untying and retying the rigging that secured the boat to the dock in the fashion I had seen the other sailors of the marina do when departing, mumbling words to a song that had been stuck in my head since yesterday.

"Hey, you!"

Now, no one should ever answer when being addressed as 'you', but out of habit I looked up, eyebrows raised in curiosity. Standing beside Cherise was a ridiculously dressed man, mid-thirties, wearing coke-bottle glasses and a cleanly shaven face. He took his hands out of his suspenders' pockets and gestured at me. "I haven't seen you around here," his tone was polite but his eyes shifted suspiciously. "What happened to the Parkinsons?"

I removed my sunglasses and hung them from my collar, flashing the man a warm smile. "I'm Tracy, the Parkinsons new tenant," I said, touching my tone with a slight nasally accent. I leaned over the rail, stretching my arm to shake his hand, never letting my smile waver.

After a short shake he quickly retracted his hand and wiped it on his blazer, as if I was contaminated by some foul, flesh-eating disease. "Frederick Chamoir, pleasure," he nodded, then paused for a moment, trying to word his accusation as innocently as possible (in case I really was their tenant). "Bill never mentioned anything about you." He said suggestively, rolling forward on the balls of his feet.

I frowned, sloping my eyebrows in disappointment. "He didn't?" As I looked at him sadly, I noted the ring on his finger and the pocket protector, trying to work out a way to include them into my act. I could talk my way out of anything if given the proper prompts. Once, I pretended to be an old friend of a woman on the subway (no particular reason aside from boredom). I faked my way through our conversation using only the crossword on her lap, the palm pilot in her pocket and the school ring on her index finger. I left at the next station, leaving her wondering why she had forgotten me after all we'd been through.

The man, suddenly unsure if he had just offended someone potentially in the Parkinsons' favor, quickly changed his tone. "Well, uh, he might have mentioned _something_—"

My smile was back. "Really?" I squealed in delight and jumped up and down, clapping my hands together energetically. "I do like to think we have a good relationship, me and them. They are _so _charitable, practically took me in you know."

"Yes, the Parkinsons have always been a fabulous couple," he waved goodbye to me smartly, trying to remove himself with what little grace he still withheld. "Enjoy the river ma'am."

I piped up, "You too, Mr. Chamoir. Bill says to say 'Hi' to the wife for him."

He laughed, his pace quickening. "Of course," he shouted over his shoulder.

"And don't work too hard at the office, you hear?" I curled my fingers after him in farewell. _Tah-tah._

Frederick Chamoir left to go discuss business with the potential client he had left waiting beside his idling corvette. The topic of the nice young lady he had met by the Parkinsons' yacht would slip its way into the conversation at some point.

I turned back to my prize, rubbing my hands together and chuckling evilly. _Too easy._

**In a Supposedly Abandoned Warehouse Upriver**

"Doesn't anyone have half a brain around here!" The sound of wood splintering echoed into the rafters as Kenny Del Sinco, longtime drug lord and renowned New York criminal, kicked a chair. The poor chair, already beaten from age and its damp surroundings, sailed across the room. Its flight was violently halted as it smashed into a wall.

Winston Grub had never been a very attractive fellow, being slightly chubby with oily skin and one droopy eye. As a young boy the other children in the neighborhood made fun of him, calling him "Toady" and "Lumpelsiltskin" and many other nicknames they had unitedly christened him with. Winston had always secretly liked the finer things in life, but finer things required money. A lot of money. Perhaps if he had simply resolved to be a telemarketer like his sister had suggested he never would have gotten into this mess. "I swear it wasn't my fault, Kenny." Winston Grub's voice rose shakingly above his boss's rants, trying very hard to save his own skin.

The other members of the underground organization, having no loyalty to Winston, stood well back. They did not want in any shape or form to disrupt their boss during one of his famous rants. Not unless they had a death wish.

Kenny Del Sinco was never a very patient man. He wanted the whole world beneath his fingertips. He had been arrested on and off during his teenage years, but at 18 he disappeared off the records. Kenny Del Sinco had bigger things in mind. His drug ring was one of the largest on the East Coast. He had started it from scratch, it was his baby. He refused to allow anyone to put his baby in jeopardy. He unhitched a revolver that had been tucked behind his shirt and waved it threateningly through the air as he shouted. "You let the pigs get whiff of you! They could be knocking on our front door this very instant because _you_ couldn't hold your liquor!"

Winston Grub whimpered, his entire body trembling. "I-It was an acci—"

"An accident? Now we have to relocate before the drop off," Kenny Del Sinco's voice lowered menacingly. "You cost me money, Winston."

"I-I know sir, but I'll make it up to you. I p-p-promise." Sweat was pouring like rain from poor Winston Grub's forehead. He began to silently pray.

Kenny Del Sinco pointed his gun at Winston, his face dark. He wanted to teach his slimy employee a lesson, and what better lesson than a good clean killing? He closed his eyes, counting to ten like his mother had advised whenever he felt the urge to pop a cap. "Start loading the packages, we'll take the boats," he said, addressing the other members. They jumped at the chance to leave the room and get out of harms way. He opened his eyes and looked down at a relieved Winston. "Count yourself lucky I've known you since Preschool."

Winston nodded his head rapidly, gasping for air. As long as nothing else went wrong, he'd live long enough to get home, eat a couple bowls of potato chips and catch an episode from his favorite soap opera.

That's when he heard the police sirens.

**Aboard Cherise**

"WOHOO!" The yacht bounced over the choppy waves, hitting at _least_ 20mph (impressive for a snobby high end yacht, eh?). White spray was sent jutting over the sides of the boat with each wave I hit, splashing onto the bottom deck and rolling over the opposite side. I pumped my fist in the air to the blasting radio and sung along to the lyrics, 'Na na na-ing' the parts I didn't know.

Just as the song reached the first bridge, a hand clasped my shoulder roughly. "What do you think you're doing?"

I screamed and spun the steering wheel sharply, sending the yacht a careening 180 degrees and causing whoever was behind me to topple backwards over the rail and onto the lower deck. I held onto the wheel tightly as my legs flew out from under me, gritting my teeth as I struggled to reach my hand up and yank back on the throttle. The 2003 model yacht eased into a slow drift. I lied there for a moment, my chest heaving up and down as my brain buzzed in confusion. Still struggling to catch my breath, I lifted my head up curiously, catching sight of a person sprawled in shock next to the on deck hot tub. I hopped to my feet, brushing off my grease stained jeans and adjusting my sports jersey. I flicked the radio switch off, the channel having already transferred to some unimportant police report concerning a drug lord called Kenny something or another. I skipped the stairs, instead I leapt over the hand rail and landed beside the man's head.

The man rubbed the back of his neck sorely as he sat up. He was wearing a grey t-shirt with rather prominent pizza stains, green cargo shorts and un-matching socks with sandals. His hair stuck out in all directions and brown stubble mixed with the occasional silver hair was already growing around his chin. _Oh, fantastic._ I thought. _A squatter._ I covered my eyes and groaned. "Listen mate, sorry about this. I had no idea someone had already staked a claim. I'll take us back."

The man slowly got to his feet, squinting in the sunlight as he looked me up and down. "Are you one of Karen's friends?" The man scratched his head.

I felt a frog leap into my throat. The woman he was referring to was Karen Parkinson, doting wife of business tycoon Bill Parkinson and co-owner of this half a million dollar boat. I looked at him properly this time, staring into his tiny blue eyes. The hobo clothes didn't look right on him, if I pictured him with a suit and a proper shave, he almost looked like…

_I'm so screwed. _

**Back at the Warehouse**

"B-but boss! What about the stash?"

Kenny Del Sinco grabbed Winston by the collar and began to drag him across the room. "Forget it! Grab what you can and head for the boats!" He roared. The men began to scramble around the warehouse like headless chickens. Their shoes pounded against the concrete floor as they ran to break open wooden crates and began loading whatever arsenal they could carry.

At the back of the warehouse beside the built-in docking station, tarps were being cast aside, revealing six illegally obtained speedboats floating readily in the dark water. They wobbled perilously as the men bumped against each other (like sardines in a tin can). Sirens squealed as the police cruisers skidded to a stop, the warehouse was flooded with blue and red light that flashed through the broken yellow windows.

Winston was the unlucky soul to become trapped in the same getaway boat as his boss. His sweaty hands shook as he gripped the steering wheel tightly, unable to will himself to look over his shoulder at his employer, who was sitting on the middle bench and loading a hand-held machine gun with hideous intent in mind. "Drive," Kenny ordered coldly, flipping the safety latch on his weapon.

Winston didn't dare refuse.

Just as the last two boats cleared their stations and sped wildly into open water, splintered wood was sent flying as the gang's previous hideout's front door was kicked open by a couple of beefy looking cops in full blackout gear. Kenny Del Sinco said goodbye to the officers by aiming a couple rounds at the intruding cops, who ducked for cover.

A trail of white foam leading out into the river and about 4 tons of abandoned cocaine were all that remained of Kenny Del Sinco and his gang.

Constable Maurice, a man who spent three years growing the perfect mustache and considers Twinkies an acceptable dinner substitute, shouted into his walkie-talkie. "Suspects armed and dangerous. Contact the Coastguard and bring around the boats, we're taking this to the water, boys."

**Back Aboard Cherise**

A much bedraggled Bill Parkinson rubbed his eyes wearily, after spending the day below deck the sun still left little white spots in his vision. He wasn't in his best dress, as anyone could see, but he had had a rough night and the last thing on his mind was looking presentable for complete strangers. Noises had woken him up from his nap and as he ventured above deck to investigate, he found some punk kid sailing his boat at record breaking speeds.

"You weren't trying to steal my yacht, were you?" Before I could answer, he laughed to himself quietly, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye. "Since that would be completely absurd, what are you, fourteen?"

"Actually I'm—"

"And if you were," he cut in, "you'd have to be a complete idiot to steal from _me_, being the man that I am, I could put you away forever without a single hearing." Bill Parkinson's cold 'business man' look appeared much less frightening while he was wearing a John Deer t-shirt and different colored socks, but somehow it still managed to make my stomach drop like a rock.

"Uh—" Truthfully, I wasn't stealing Cherise per _se_. I only wanted to take her out for a spin…honest. I just hadn't expected the owner to be taking a snooze below deck, so in retrospect, this was all _his _fault.

His eyebrows rose slightly in disbelief as he realized this wasn't a joke, then his mouth tightened and his gaze grew heavy in anger. "Unbelievable," he threw his arms in the air and began stomping around deck, shouting several curses to the sky. "I'm being hijacked by a-a teenager!"

I began looking around the yacht for an escape route, wondering if getting away with it was worth a dip in the Hudson. I scrunched up my nose at the unpleasant thought. No doubt it would take weeks, even _months_ to get the smell out of my hair. Not to mention there was no telling what the pollution would do to my skin. I began weighing the negatives and positives, letting my eyes wander as I searched for a flotation device.

"Are you even listening to me?"

I looked up at a red-faced Mr. Parkinson with a perplexed expression. He should be in Australia right now, spotting kangaroos and exploring the reef. "Weren't you supposed to be on your second honeymoon?" I asked blandly.

His whole body recoiled form my words, as if all the tendons holding his muscles together snapped at the same time. The dark lines on his face accented his sulking expression as he frowned. "Plans change," he muttered, looking up at the bright blue sky wistfully. "Look," he made a persuasive gesture, "I won't press charges, ok? I'm turning us around and taking us back to the marina." He began to walk briskly up the steps, as he'd done a million times since purchasing the yacht. "Just promise not to kill me when my back is turned!" He shouted as he walked towards the front dash.

I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

I skipped up the stairs after him, suddenly curious at the change of behavior. I pretended to be interested with all the instruments on the dashboard. There were plenty of fancy-schmancy knobs and buttons and levers, glittering from the solar powered lights placed within the overhang. They did mostly useless stuff like air conditioning below deck or initiating five different levels of jet combinations in the hot tub. There was a yellow-tinted navigation system and a 'Fish Finder' as well. Beyond the glass you could see the bare edge of the eastern city, skyscrapers jutted like black shadows reaching for the clear sky behind shipping yards, tourist-aimed boardwalks and local 'beaches'.

My lips thrummed together as I hummed an innocent tune, sauntering up beside him with my hands held behind my back. "So," I said nonchalantly, "why _aren't _you on your honeymoon?"

"That's not exactly appropriate," he said, trying to keep an eye on his pipsqueak hijacker while at the same time checking if all systems were go. He hadn't actually meant what he said, once they were safely back at the harbor he'd call the police and have the girl arrested immediately. Never trust a New York businessman.

I scrunched up my face, my disapproving grin shining through. "You cheated on her, huh?"

Mr. Parkinson suddenly slapped the dashboard and exhaled through his teeth, shaking his head as he stared out into the river. "You ask a lot of questions for a delinquent."

"Ah, but I'm a _civilized_ delinquent whereas _you_, sir, are an uncivilized taxpayer." I pranced backwards as he took a threatening step towards me. "Tsk tsk. You'd better watch that temper, Mr. Parkinson. No wonder she kicked you out." I grinned cheekily as his face turned a deep shade of purple. I shook my head mockingly in response to his blubbering spurts of incoherent outrage. "What would your mother say?"

"Listen you little punk," he growled while pointing his finger at me, "Y—" But whatever insult he was about to throw at me (I'm sure it would have been quite graphic) was abruptly cut off as police sirens screamed loudly down the river.

Six speedboats emerged from a warehouse, like a hoard of insects from the bowels of a monster's yawning mouth. Behind them was a large police boat, trying to herd the escapers to shore by swerving left and right. Mr. Parkinson, suddenly afraid for the safety of his 500,000 dollar yacht, jumped for the steering wheel. I ran to the edge of the ship and leaned over the rail, trying to catch sight of the assailants as they sped towards us. I spotted a plump man sitting in the driver's seat at the back of the group. His cheeks were a light shade of 'granny smith apple' green. Behind him sat a man carrying two machine guns (like he thought he was Al Pacino or something) with a greaser-esque haircut and a mole beside the corner of his mouth.

A worried sensation overcame me. I looked over to Mr. Parkinson, who stood frozen at the dashboard. "Don't you think we should be moving _away_ from the armed criminals?"

He remained standing there with wide eyes, as if experiencing some form of paralysis.

"Ok. No rush. Take your time."

He looked over at me, his face pale. "You're not going to believe this," he stuttered, his face full of fright. "But we're out of gas."

Of course we were.

White hot bursts exploded through the air as shots were exchanged between the police boat and the escaping men. Goading shouts could be heard over the blasting and the police cruiser veered to the side to avoid the heavy rain of fire.

I began to quickly untie a red and white striped life saver from the rail, trying to think of any other way to avoid an oncoming collision without getting a proper soaking in the Hudson. Nothing came to mind.

"I c-can't die! I'm a very important man! This is all _your _fault. _What _are you going to do?" Mr. Parkinson was panicking as he held his hands over his ears, vowing that if he lived, he'd sue me for everything I owned.

I glanced quickly at the oncoming traffic and made my way across deck. "Abandoning ship, duh."

"You can't just—"

"Oh, don't worry," I said assuredly, grabbing his arm. "You're coming with me."

We looked down into the green muck that wafted against the yacht. I yanked on his arm again, about to take a leap of faith, but he hung back. "Before we do this," Mr. Parkinson said slowly, staring into our distorted reflections, "could I ask you something?"

"We're kind of on a tight schedule here," I said hurriedly, looking over my shoulder as the high speed boat chase became closer and closer. Suddenly, I had an idea (my ideas are always sudden). On a whim, I released Mr. Parkinson's arm and ran back across deck. I crouched down low and took a look beneath one of the seats. I stretched my arm to reach under the cushion and grunted as my hand searched for a latch.

The gun shots were completely earsplitting. Mr. Parkinson had to strain his voice to be heard. "How did you know I cheated on her?"

"Cherise!" I replied loudly. _Ah-ha._ I yanked on the latch and the seat unhinged itself. It was fine craftsmanship; the striped leather casing alone would go for a couple hundred bucks. Too bad, this would wreck it completely. I lifted the seat up and balanced it on my shoulder, groaning from the strain. "Take this!" I threw it with all my strength at an approaching speedboat, knocking the black-haired man straight off his feet and into the water. The driver lost control and made a sharp turn. Water caught over the rim of the boat and it flipped upside down, bouncing across the river like a skipping stone and slamming into the side of another escaping speedboat. I winced at the sight. _That had to hurt._

"What do you mean, 'Cherise'?" Mr. Parkinson shouted.

The other men on their own boats took my action as a direct assault and swiveled their guns towards us.

Time to go.

I skipped back towards Mr. Parkinson, grabbing him by his shirt sleeve and pulling him over the edge without breaking my stride. "You didn't name the boat after your wife!" I replied. Everyone knew you named your boat after the love of your life. And with that, we both hit the water with a SMACK just as a round of excess bullets streamed across Cherise's deck, sending bits of polished wood and tanned leather seating bursting into the air.

So that's the story—Mr. Parkinson was eventually picked up by the police patrolling the river; he lost his boat and his marriage. Kenny Del Sinco would be seen in court a few months later, he vows to get revenge on whatever mysterious girl threw that projectile at his head. Winston was never caught and the police presumed him dead after his boat capsized at 60 mph (though there are rumors of a man shortly after Winston's death taking the telemarketing franchise by storm). The drug ring never fully dissipated, but it was significantly smaller and easier for the blue suits to contain.

As for me, I learned how to swim that day.

**End of Entry #1**

_End of Chapter 6_

Yeah, I made you wait. The first five chapters of this fan-fic were to test the waters (I had a sinking feeling this concept had been overdone). BUT thanks to your outstanding reviews I've decided to make a proper storyline out of this. I've been productive in my absence and I managed to think up an entire plot for this fan-fic, so hopefully I'll be able to update a _lot_ faster now. :) Thanks again for the amazing support, you guys rule.


	7. Elevator

**Chapter 7**

"Ella, could you please stop jumping up and down?" Matsuda asked me anxiously, using his sleeve to wipe a line of sweat from his brow.

"How much weight do you think this thing can take?" I bounced again and was delighted when the entire contraption began to shake.

"I'd rather not find out," Matsuda said with an exhausted expression.

The very first time I was stuck on an elevator was with my mother. We had just come back from running errands and were late for a play date with one of the kids from my kindergarten class (a girl who liked to shove small objects up her nose, including my prized crayon set). I remember my mom balancing a mountain of shopping bags in her arms while trying to press the correct buttons. I, being the helpful child I was (and damn cute too), decided to assist her. I reached my stubby fingers up and smacked the big red emergency button. That day, we spent an entire hour in that cramped space while maintenance sorted it out, playing a competitive game of eye-spy. After that, the whole elevator smelled of my mother's perfume for weeks.

It was a happy memory.

I began busying myself, searching through the tangles in my hair for stray leaves or cigarette butts that had been entrapped within my maze of messy tresses during the storm. I glanced at my reflection in the glass, wincing at the sight of my poor condition. My eyes were a dastardly bloodshot color and my upper lip had busted open at some point during my ventures. There was a long purple bruise coiling around my right leg like a poisonous cobra from the wire that had caught my fall at To-oh and it panged every time I moved. My ear had turned a frightful cornucopia of hues, threatening infection.

Basically, I was messed up.

Matsuda had started pacing the elevator again, ringing his hair out for any leftover rain and nervously adjusting his suit. His leather shoes left muddy traces on the floor and he had been humming the same upbeat tune on and off for the past half-hour (it's-driving-me-insane). We were both drenched, miserable and sleepy.

Not a good combination.

"I couldn't have taken the stairs," I mumbled to myself for the fifteenth time. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

"My apologies, Ella," Matsuda said sincerely. He slid to the ground to sit next to me with a worn out sigh, bringing his knees to his chest and staring at the double doors opposite.

I shrugged. It wasn't Matsuda's fault.

A little red light blinked on the top corner of the speaker, just below the buttons. A crackling of tumultuous static stifled the voices that came from behind the mesh, making them sound like low grumblings. I strained my ears, trying to find sense within the puzzling jumble of words. "Matsuda, what did they say?"

Matsuda twiddled his thumbs. "You're not going to like it."

I pursed my lips and arched my eyebrow severely, "Enlighten me".

"Well," Matsuda said reluctantly, "it'll be at least another two hours."

Like that was going to happen.

As I pulled myself to my feet, my whole body felt light as a feather. My limbs tingled oddly, as if a thousand bubbles fizzed up my veins. I took my first step and shook my arms, trying to rid myself of the feeling. The rush disappeared and my walk became heavy as I stomped over to the speaker on the far side. Impatience had spent the last little while festering inside the hollows of my bones, making my joints itch in frustration.

I punched the giant two-way button with a clenched fist, leaning my face dauntingly close to the speaker. I wet my lips and shouted at the top of my lungs, emphasizing my words harshly. "Oi! What have you idiots been doing for the past half hour, taking a lunch break? Move your lazy asses and hurry up!" _Perfect—intimidating, but simple._

More static crackled from the speaker in reply, the voices did not sound very concerned. I looked over my shoulder at Matsuda for translation, blowing a strand of hair from my eyes irritably. The strand remained stubborn and fell back into place, I opted to leave it there than expend the energy it took to lift my hand and brush it away.

Matsuda began to untie and re-tie his shoelace. "You're _really_ not going to like it."

"Hey," I let forth a persuasive smile. "I am a mature, sensible, decent human being. I think I can handle it."

Matsuda looked up at the ceiling, pretending to be fascinated with the clever architecture of the glass and steel. He mumbled something from behind his hand, as if he was wiping some mayonnaise off his chin.

I cupped my hand over my good ear and leaned forward. "Didn't quite catch that."

Matsuda spoke as quickly as he could, trying to make the words seem less offensive. "They said 'Stupid American teenagers won't make the elevator work any faster'. . . or something, I didn't really hear—"

I hit the two-way button with enough force to break someone's jaw-line. My cold, steel eyes flickered in the light as my expression darkened. "I'm Canadian," I said, grinding my teeth together, my tone cut deeply through the static silence.

Laughter erupted from the other end, followed by what I assumed to be a stream of Canadian jokes (I heard the word 'Canuck' numerous times). I turned around inch by inch and slid to the floor, feeling defeated. Any other day and those guys wouldn't know what hit them, I'd have them by their collars and begging for mercy without breaking a sweat (I'd even give them each a super-wedgie for good measure). Quite unfortunately, I hadn't a drop of vigor to spare that would allow me to teach a bunch of techies some national curtsey.

Matsuda had to keep wiping sweat off his neck and upper brow; the AC was obviously offline. He loosened his red tie a bit and shook off his coat, folding it neatly and setting it down on his lap. I, more out of boredom than hunger, began to rummage through my pockets in search of a mento. I wiggled in my spot, running my tongue along my teeth as I squirmed to reach the candy I knew was there.

_Ah-ha! _

What I pulled out of my pocket ended up not being the minty bon-bon I had expected, but a small engagement ring. I held it up in the light and twisted it between my fingers, watching the diamond glint softly. It had fallen in-between the fabric of my pants and therefore hadn't been confiscated at the police station like the cash Jerry had given me earlier that day.

That ring was the very first thing I ever lifted.

A few months after moving to New York and discovering my Uncle's self-consuming drinking problem; I wandered the streets after school looking for something to ease my boredom. I came to know hunger like I never had before, that knawing sensation in the pit of your stomach that never completely goes away. Unable to work up the nerve to return to my Uncle and ask for dinner, I snuck into the kitchen of a five-star restaurant (I have expensive taste). It was late into the winter season and the kitchen, busy from the dinner flow, was warm and welcoming. The second I breathed in, the delicious smells made my stomach rumble with a vengeance. It was just sitting there, a chocolate frosted cake with little raspberry pearls decorating the corners. I knew I'd regret it, but hunger is a powerful thing. With chocolate icing coating the corners of my mouth and fingers, halfway through the cake, I nearly choked on the bloody engagement ring (ALWAYS chew your food).

Immediately after the discovery did some glorified sous-chef start throwing ladles and other kitchenware at me (some sharper than others). I escaped at high-speed, not realizing I still had the ring until I was seven blocks in the wrong direction.

A few days later I made the decision that returning the ring and apologizing would be the best course of action (if I had to fake cry to get out of trouble, then so be it). I was certain someone had been planning to propose that very night (via a very corny method), and wouldn't want to deny them their life of happiness. When I arrived, the air still crisp from the morning chill, there was nothing left of the restaurant except charred support beams and grey ash. According to the paper-boy on the street corner, the man who had asked the chefs to hide the ring in the cake thought one of the employees had stolen it. He chose as an act of retaliation to set the place aflame in the dead of night.

I decided the man didn't deserve his ring back.

"Ella, aren't you a little young to be getting married?"

The ring disappeared inside the palm of my hand as my eyes shot up to look at a confused and slightly embarrassed Matsuda.

"Not to say that you can't," he started stumbling over his words, "you're a young woman! Of course you have certain expectations that are completely understandable and—"

"It's not mine, Matsuda."

"Oh, of course" Matsuda adjusted his collar, "then whose is it?"

"My Aunt Bertrude's," I said, beginning to toss the ring in the air and watch it fall back into my hand.

"Is she. . . divorced?"

"Nope. She died in a horrific elevator accident."

I could tell the cogs in Matsuda's mind were turning but he was unable to work out a reply to my statement.

_Pause for dramatic effect_, "There was some problem with the cables, the whole thing launched straight through the roof like a rocket." I accented my description by weaving my hand through the air and whistling as I acted out it plummeting to the ground. "She landed somewhere on 4th street, so I heard."

"Oh," Matsuda nodded quickly, suddenly very _very_ aware we were in an elevator ourselves. "That's. . .so. . . tragic."

"What's tragic was her lemon squares, absolutely horrid." I stuck out my tongue, pretending to taste a poorly cooked lemon square. The look on Matsuda's face nearly made me burst out laughing (but I kept my cool). I returned the ring to its hiding place within my cargos and continued digging for food.

I found a soggy granola bar of unknown origin and a questionable expiry date. Even so, it made my mouth water in expectation. I began to peel back the crinkled wrapper, feeling pleased at the sight of several half-melted chocolate chips included alongside the wet granola. I opened my mouth readily, about to take a gigantic bite, when Matsuda started fiddling with his tie. The action diverted my attention from my oncoming meal. _I wonder how long ago Matsuda's last meal was._

I looked down at the granola bar mournfully before sighing and snapping it half. I leaned across the elevator and stretched my arm out, waving the piece of granola in his face. "Here, take it," I said. "Fair's fair."

He shook his hands in front of him hurriedly, "Oh no, I'm fine, re—"

Matsuda's stomach betrayed his politer instincts with a thunderous and incessant growl. His own hunger now out in the open, he graciously swiped my offer and began to nibble on the granola silently. "So," he said through a mouthful, "where are your parents?"

My rigorous chewing slowed; I swallowed, feeling the lump travel down my throat painfully. "They're out clubbing," I muttered, and took another bite.

"Won't they be worried about you?"

"Probably." I tried not to think about anything other than the task at hand. One _more bite. Chew. Swallow. Repeat._

"I have a cell phone, if you want you can ca—"

I disguised a sorrowful sigh as a cough, looking out the window over Matsuda's head. "They don't get reception where they are." The rain was back, blotting out the stars with its inky blackness. Having finished my half of the granola bar and not feeling the slightest bit satisfied, I began crumpling the wrapper into a tiny ball. "But thanks anyway."

Matsuda nodded and wiped his own hands on his pants, asking me something I couldn't quite make out.

I tossed the crumbled wrapper into the corner, pretending I just basketed a three-pointer and won the game. "What?" I asked, not hearing him correctly.

"I _said_, why are you going to so much trouble to seek Ryuzaki out? Does it have to do with the Kira case?" He asked eagerly, leaning forward from his sitting position.

"Uh. . . yeah," I said slowly, thinking about the repercussions of the question I knew he was about to ask.

"You know who Kira is?" Matsuda exclaimed, suddenly thrilled he was apart of this. His eyes lit up like a school boy waking up to find out it's a snow day. "Is it a man? Someone within the police? You know I always suspected—"

"Um. . . actually," I looked at my feet, curling and flexing my toes. The screaming ache inside my soles had numbed. There was no reason for my hesitation, I was fully prepared to tell Matsuda all the details of the events to come. He could inform L about Light's bad boy behavior, solve the case and save the day. It would make for a very short and boring manga, but hey, problem solved.

But I froze.

The sensation of cold, dead fingers wrapped around my neck and squeezed _ever_ so slightly. I felt a raspy breath wheeze against my ear, the touch sent my heart rate speeding to one that would rival a hummingbird on crack. The scent of sulphur wafted around the room and the fingers caressed my hair softly, causing sub-zero drops of sweat to slide down my back. The most terrifying thoughts raced through my mind, as if a horror-film switch was clicked ON in my brain. A voice, as gentle as a midnight breeze, whispered into my ear. _"Tsk. Tsk. No tattling, human." _

The decayed feeling that had crawled up my body and camped inside my stomach left swiftly, but the sulphiric smell remained as a reminder. I lifted my shaking fingers to feel around my neck, my hairs still stood on end from the encounter. I was unsure who or what had spoken, but I did know one thing, one very important thing.

I have been warned.

"Ella?"

Matsuda's voice woke me from my stupor, "Y-yes?" My voice quivered and my pitch rose to a yelp, I swallowed and grunted. "I mean, yes?"

"Kira, you were telling—"

"OH, that. Well," I stood up and stretched, rolling my shoulders like a cat that had just woken up from its nap. I leaned forward and tried to touch my toes (I can never quite reach). "If you want to know who Kira is, why don't we ask your boss? He's pretty smart (understatement of the century)." And with that, I turned to look up at the shiny black security camera installed in the far corner of the ceiling, next to the blinking red emergency light.

I smiled and waved at the device.

Why?

Simple.

L was watching.

What a shocker.

I've seen enough of Death Note to know how L works. A broken down elevator equipped with a wi-fi camera in the _same _hotel L was staying at was a recipe for underhanded deeds just waiting to happen. My daring words during our phone call meant I must be near the top of his 'distrustful characters' list, so of course he would've mapped out a plan before meeting me in person.

Matsuda got up to stand next to me and look at the camera as well, his eyebrows were curved downwards and his lips pouted out from befuddlement. He tilted his head sideways. "What are we looking at?"

I nudged his arm. "Don't be rude. Say hello to your employer, Matsuda. He set this whole thing up," I looked up at Matsuda for a moment, confused. Wasn't he part of L's plan?

Matsuda looked at the camera, then at the speaker, and then at me. Realization dawned on him and his eyebrows flew back behind his hairline in surprise. "Are you saying Ryuzaki stopped the elevator?"

I nodded slowly. "Sorry, Matsuda. I thought you were in on it," I crossed my arms and looked at the camera with a displeased expression, "looks like I'm not the only one who's been tricked."

The intercom fizzed to life, this time emitting a digitally altered voice. _"My apologies, Matsuda. I felt it necessary to take the proper precautions."_

I scuffed my foot along the floor, feeling more than irritable. "You know, L, you could have just asked. I would have answered all your questions."

_"It was doubtful you would tell the truth."_

I pretended to pick at something in my ear, not showing any signs that I had been fazed by his 'methods'. "Am I allowed aboard, Captain? Or will you keep us fourteen floors above ground?"

"_Thirteen floors, technically. The thirteenth floor is rarely counted in order to avoid problems with superstitious guests. That does not, however, alter the height of the building."_

My voice was coating with intentional sarcasm. "Fascinating."

_"I am sorry, but you will not be permitted to leave the elevator until I have determined you are not a threat, Miss Krispy."_

_You don't sound very sorry. _"Th-threat?" I scoffed and pointed at the camera accusingly. "You're the one who locked an innocent citizen inside a suspended tin can!"

"_As a said before, once you have answered my questions honestly I will release you. There would be no need to keep you any longer after that."_

I shut my eyes tightly, trying to block out the image of L sipping on a cup of sugared tea and feeling obstinately pleased with himself. "I suppose you're not about to change your mind anytime soon, right?" (Betchya a hundred bucks he says yes.)

"_Correct." _(Toldchya. You owe me a hundred bucks)

Something I learned after finding myself stuck inside an old building 30 seconds from its demolition point (they were making way for a parking lot): Always have a Plan B.

I stalked over to the side of the small space and gripped the handrail tightly, squinting up at the ceiling. "Hup," I swung my legs around and positioned myself so I was balancing on the rail using the tips of my toes and feeling the ceiling with the flats of my palms. My spine creaked as I worked my way to the centre and twisted my body around at an odd angle.

L's digitized voice blipped on the intercom. "_Miss Krispy. This is not the solution."_

I started jiggling one of the caged slabs centered between the two sets of florescent lights. It slid to the side easily, revealing a thick escape hatch with a yellow handle and a warning label scribbled upside down on its surface. I ignored the label and yanked on the latch, a blast of fresh air hissed through the opening.

"Ella, that's dangerous!" Matsuda exclaimed.

I strained my neck to look down at him. "Just a day in the life," I pushed open the lid and peeked my head through, I could see nothing but darkness.

"_Miss Krispy, you are endangering your own life. If you do not cease I will be forced to take drastic measures."_

"You're just upset because I've rendered your oh-so-clever plan useless," I said. My legs kicked wildly (Matsuda had to duck to avoid getting smacked in the face) as I pulled myself through the hatch. Once situated, I poked my head back through, interrupting a fast-paced conversation in Japanese between Matsuda and L. "I'll see you on the 17th floor, Matsuda." My hair tumbled past my head as I showed a jagged-toothed smile towards the camera. "No hard feelings, L." I whipped my head back out and took in my new surroundings.

I stood on the naked roof of the elevator, brushing myself off mildly while I let my eyes adjust. The smell of oil and grease sifted through the stale air, forcing me to clear my dry throat. Six metal cords the thickness of my fist stretched at a bone breaking tension from their bolts in the centre of the roof and entwined around a system of pulleys before coursing up into the seemingly endless tunnel above me.

I cupped my hands around my mouth. "ECHO!" I listened as my voice bounced to the highest reaches of the elevator shaft.

A few feet above me was a set of elevator doors imbedded into the wall. Two other shafts empty of their elevators were on my right and left, also filled with metal wires. I could hear the whir of one as it stopped a few floors below us, its doors opened and a stream of yellow light shot upwards before the doors closed shut.

The elevator below DINGED and I realized much too late that it was headed in my direction. I flung myself forward and wrapped my arms around the clutter of wiring just as the elevator ascended past me at a death-defying speed. A tumultuous rush of air crashed through my body and lifted my legs out from under me. My fingers slipped and I was thrown back, smashing my head against a dividing beam between me and the other elevator shaft. I had to scramble to avoid slipping over the edge and down fourte—_thirteen_ stories. As I strained to hold on my ears popped, it sounded as though a freight train was trying to shove its way through a very skinny tunnel. The screeching of metal on metal disappeared as the elevator continued its climb and I huffed an exhausted sigh of relief as I pulled myself into a standing position.

Not wanting to go through that experience again, my eyes searched around rapidly for an escape route. _BINGO. _A vent rested only a foot above my head on the back wall. I scuttled over and eyed the screws, this could be tricky. I reached into one of my buttoned pockets and took out the small handcuff key I had acquired earlier. _I knew this would come in handy. _My eyes narrowed as I worked the thin end of the key into the slot of the bottom right corner screw and began to twist it loose.

Just as I was finishing with the last screw did I hear an ominous snicker directly behind my injured ear. I spun on my heel, trying to catch the perpetrator in the act, but the space was abandoned. I took a cautious step forward, my eyes bee lining for any dark corners _it _may be hiding in. That same heart-shattering feeling fell upon my head, making my hands shake. The air became dense and heated. Clickety-clack sounds scuttled up the far wall and a ripple of laughter echoed in the dark.

"You know," I said, trying to sound brave, "I don't believe in ghosts."

The clanking sounds stopped abruptly and the air stilled.

I waited a moment, but nothing else happened. I nodded rightly. The next time _it_ came back I'd be ready.

I lifted the vent from its placement, my muscles screamed from its surprising weightiness and I let it drop to the floor with a loud CLANG. I rubbed my shoulder uneasily, looking behind me one last time for _it _before heaving myself inside the vent. My shoulders brushed the walls as I started a _painfully_ slow army crawl, my head continued to bump the ceiling as I shuffled forward. I tried to think of absolutely anything other than dying in a small space: my favorite pretzel vender who combed his curled mustache every five seconds, watching Times Square on New Year's Eve from the Empire State Building's observatory deck, hunting for the tallest tree in Central Park in the middle of winter etc. You know, the good times.

I weaved around in the vent for a while, turning left and right every so often whenever I fancied. It became difficult when I had to ease myself over a passage that went straight down or wiggle my way through one that went up. After five minutes and finding no escaping vent, I wondered if I should turn back. _Not possible, I'm not letting L one up me like this. _Even more determined, I quickened my pace.

Sensing a draft, I turned around a corner and was met with a soft light from an opening up ahead. "Finally!" It was about time, my limbs ached from crawling through that cramped space for so long. The passage opened up and I was able to maneuver into a sitting position. I peered through the slots in the vent casing and my heart dropped. I was staring out into open air, thirteen floors above ground. The city rumbled below and I groaned. Now I would have to turn around and start all over again.

That's when I heard _it_.

The petrifying sound of claws on metal darted around the shadowy tunnel behind me. A voice hissed vaporously from around the corner, _"Where are you, human?" _It asked teasingly.

I stopped breathing.

I was trapped.

_End of Chapter 7_

THANK YOU for all your support guys! I know I've said this before, but you're freaking awesome! R&R if you've got a moment. :)


	8. I Am Proud to Introduce

Hello again! I tried to make this chapter as exciting as possible to make up for how friggen LONG it took me to write it. You guys have all been really supportive despite my obvious neglect (guess who's failing biology?) and I am super glad you like the story so far. ^_^

I'm going to try and update as much as I can in the next few weeks in honor of NaNoWriMo (who needs biology anyway?).

Thanks so much everyone!

**Chapter 8**

Don't you just hate it when something you can't see is lurking inside a cramped ventilation system, threatening to murder you and then dispose of your body in a number of creative ways?

Yeah, me too.

_There's no such thing as ghosts, there's no such thing as ghosts. _I reassured myself as I quietly backed away from the slithering sounds echoing from around the corner. _Even if there was a ghost (hypothetically), it's not like it could hurt me. _My back pushed up against the vent, informing me I had nowhere left to run. _Ghosts are only puffs of mist anyway, I could take one on blindfolded. _Frosty strips of metal pressed against the back of my neck and sent hordes of goose bumps shivering up my arms. _There's no reason to worry._

The voice spoke again. This time it sounded gritty, like a rat knawing hungrily on a bone or a system of rusty gears grinding against each other._ "Are we playing hide and seek, human? I love games." _

Still, I wouldn't want to chance it.

I spun myself around, leaned back and kicked against the vent with all my might. My heels struck the metal painfully, opening old scabs and widening the wounds. I thrashed my legs out again, beating dents into the vent lining.

"_Are you trying to escape? I only want to talk." _It snickered at its statement, as if it had made a distasteful joke that everyone in the room laughed at anyway.

I doubted it was as sincere as it pretended to be.

I pounded the vent over and over, sweat streamed down my collarbones and both my cheeks flushed from the effort. I looked back with a panicked expression, gasping for air. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw a shadow stealthily creep closer. Warning signals flashed in my brain. I drove both my feet against the metal with alarming force, ignoring the pins and needles throbbing in my heels. The vent's bolts finally snapped and exploded from their bearings. It burst out of its casing, bounced off a ledge and whistled straight down thirteen stories before crash-landing in the plaza.

I hastily crawled through the opening, only taking a moment to properly place my feet on the ledge before pulling myself all the way through. I could hear other-worldly screams of outrage behind me before I slipped to the side and distanced myself from the vent.

The first thing I noticed (kind of hard to miss) was the sickening height. Vertigo dizzied my senses and for a moment the world spun the other way. I quickly closed my eyes and pressed my back against the wall to find my bearings. The bumps in the limestone bricks scratched against my back as I slowly began to edge along the escarpment. Rain flicked against my face, making me squint as I tried to look for a way off the ledge without the result ending with a loud SPLAT.

Wind wisped by teasingly, reminding me it had the power to throw me off the building whenever it pleased. My eyes peered past my nose and looked down into the exposed city below. There was a round-a-bout in front of the hotel with freshly pruned hedges and cut grass. In its centre was a sparkling white fountain that's contents rippled from the rain. Beside the fountain was a parked blue SUV, illuminated by the yellow light streaming from inside the lobby.

I tore my eyes away and focused on the balcony 20 feet to my right instead. Iron studded railings lined the balcony like a cage and swirling designs ran along the bottom of the stone slab, worn smooth from the elements. In the corner sat a polished lounge chair and a fake potted plant.

Of all this, the most noticeable thing had to be the angels.

They were perched precariously on the ledge, lining the side of the building in various poses. From below, the angels would have looked like watchful guardians, keeping peace in the city and skies. From here I could see their angled brows and exposed teeth, giving them faces of undeniable fury. (You'd be pissed too if you had to crouch there for all eternity, and in a toga no less.) Local lore would say they were carved with such faces to ward off evil spirits, I hoped that included the invisible voice behind me as well.

My feet slid slowly across the ledge as I moved closer to the balcony, leaving a faint trail of blood in their wake. I started to pass the first angel and felt comforted knowing there was a life-size statue between me and a short but deadly drop. The wind was bitter and made my extremities feel like they would freeze solid and snap off. _Keep it together, Sydney. _I swallowed painfully and kept a determined eye on the prize. If I could just reach—

"ELLA!" Someone's voice blasted from inside the vent, shocking my unsuspecting eardrums.

I jumped at the sound (probably _the _most idiotic thing I've done all day) and lost my footing. My left heel slid forward and off the ledge, sending me careening forward and swinging my arms wildly. I cursed loudly. In a desperate attempt to keep myself from becoming a spot on the pavement, I leaned to the side and jumped. For a split second I hung over thirteen stories of empty air, spitting in gravity's smug face. The moment passed and my shoulder struck the angelic statue in the head, sending sharp pangs along my arm. I scrambled for a grip, managing to latch four of my fingers onto the angel's lower jaw (it was open wide and sneering into the night). My legs were still swaying from the momentum like dead-weights, pulling me down.

Now I was only holding on by three-fingers.

Matsuda peeked his head through the vent and gulped. The height of the building made his chest tighten painfully. After a very one-sided conversation with L inside the elevator, he had been ordered to keep sight of Ella Krispy at all costs. All costs included tracking the girl through a ventilation shaft, apparently. Clumps of dust bunnies were caught within his hair and grease stains spotted his suit like leopard skin (which had been brand new).

Matsuda finally caught sight of me as I was struggling to wrap my hands around the angel's neck. My muscles burned and my tendons shook from the physical exertion. My cheeks were a strangled purple color—I had forgotten how to breathe.

His arms nearly gave out from shock. He regained his balance and scampered out of the vent at top speed, quickly shimming along the ledge towards me. "Ella, I'm coming to get you, just hold on!"

"It's fine, I'm fine!" I called out. My legs kicked through the air as I tried lifting my arm to grab onto the tip of the angel's folded wing. "Everything's completely under contr—AHH!" I made a mad grab for the wing and missed. My fingers slipped and I felt a rush of thunderous air blast past my ears as I dropped a couple of inches before Matsuda grabbed the back of my shirt. He leaned between the angel's shoulder blades for support and yanked with all his might. My shirt choked my stomach as he started to haul me back up. "God, you're heavy," he groaned as little veins popped in his neck.

"You just need to hit the gym more," I grunted as I caught the ledge with my hand and lifted myself into a seating position.

We both fell back against the wall, our legs dangled over the ledge as we breathed in and out rapidly. We stared up into the spitting black sky, welcoming the cool drops as they poured down our faces and necks. I was mouthing silent 'thank yous' for my lucky break. Matsuda's hand was still gripping my shirt tightly, as if he had forgotten it was there.

"Have you," Matsuda said between breaths, "completely lost your mind?"

I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth to ease the throbbing in my head. I thought about all the bizarre things that had happened to me in the last few hours and chuckled at his statement. "Matsuda, you have _no_ idea." I patted him encouragingly on the stomach (admittedly, he _was_ a little flabby around the middle). "Ok, let's go." I eased myself to a standing position.

There was a loud CRACK.

A thin fracture splintered around the base of the angelic statue, carving a fissure into its pedestal. We watched in a dumb silence as the angel shifted forward and tipped off the ledge. It finally got its chance to fly (which lasted about a quarter of a second) before plummeting to earth where it broke into a billion pieces (directly on top of an unfortunately parked SUV). The car's alarm wailed like a new born babe and its lights started to flash. Two people, too small to make out, ran out of the lobby to survey the damage.

I saw one of them look up and point at us, trying to make themselves heard over the shrieking car alarm. "That wasn't your car, was it?" I asked.

"No," Matsuda said, his voice withering. He was going to be in so much trouble.

"Whew, good. Ok, follow me." I began to shimmy along the escarpment, nodding to the other angels as I passed them.

"But we have to go back!" Matsuda exclaimed.

I paused and looked at Matsuda with a serious expression. "Do you _really _want to go back through that vent?"

Matsuda thought about it. "Ok, fine!" He said and trailed behind me. "But we're going to talk about this later!"

"What are you going to do, _ground_ me?" I gripped the iron bar of the balcony tightly and heaved myself over, offering my hand out to help Matsuda.

"No, but—"

"Shh," I warned Matsuda to be silent and held my finger to my lips. I swiftly crossed over to the sliding doors and peeked past the glass, through an opening in the curtains. I caught a glimpse of a bath robe that had been tossed on the ground and the flash of a television screen. "The latch is unlocked," I muttered. "We could just go in."

"Maybe we should knock?" Matsuda whispered.

I grinned impishly over my shoulder at Matsuda. "Where's the fun in that?" Before Matsuda could stop me I flung open the sliding doors and hopped through. My feet landed on a thin puce-colored carpet, creating foot-sized damp smudges. I looked around: an entertainment unit towered over the entire room, a yellow lamp wearing a fashionable green shade was lit on a nightstand behind an alarm clock and a ceiling fan whizzed 'round and round' quietly. There was a single bed beside the nightstand with a blue comforter and _extremely _flowery sheets.

And inside the bed, watching paper view and eating cheetos, was a fat guy (not to say that that was his only feature). He wore nothing but boxers that were decorated with a playboy bunny pattern and had his hair tied back in a very skillful French braid as well.

I saluted him "Your balcony is secure, sir" and hurried across the room in quick strides. Matsuda was trying to follow me closely while bowing apologies to the stunned man on the bed (who still had half a cheeto hanging out of his mouth). I stopped abruptly half-way to the door and Matsuda nearly toppled over me.

I held my finger in the air thoughtfully, "On second thought," I skipped over to his bed and grabbed a handful of cheetos before racing back to the entrance. I used one hand to turn the door handle and the other to shove twelve cheetos in my mouth at once. I started chewing and waved over my shoulder at the fat guy before Matsuda and I exited his life forever.

The hallway was quiet apart from the faint sound of a car alarm that refused to cease. I looked left and right and started jogging for the stairwell, licking delicious orange cheeto dust from my fingers.

"What exactly are you planning to do?" Matsuda wheezed, still out of breath.

I pulled open the stairwell door and paused. "Why, get his autograph of course."

Matsuda wondered if I was serious.

We scaled the stairs quickly to the seventeenth floor and emerged into a much more elaborate hallway. The ceiling was higher, the trim along the walls looked brand new and the doors were further apart, suggesting much larger rooms. Matsuda lead the way to a door equipped with a silver knocker. He felt for his key card inside his jacket pocket. "I can't seem to find—"

I whipped out his key card from my _own_ pocket and swiped the lock, waiting for the green light.

"When did you—?"

"Ugh, _ages_ ago. You should really try to keep better track of your things, Matsuda." The lock clicked open and I twisted the handle. I gave Matsuda a fleeting apologetic smile and handed him back his key card. I took a deep breath and quickly tried to fix my hair (it was a lost cause) and adjust my shirt. I held my head up high and swung open the door, my excitement amplifying ten-fold. It felt even better than the buzz I got downing six energy drinks in one sitting (I was awake for _days_). I expected to see the entire investigating team drinking coffee and taking notes. The two I remember most from the anime was Aizawa with his trademark afro (he's bringing it back) and Chief Yagami with his tell-tale worry lines and fatherly pride.

But instead of the warm scene I imagined, I was met with darkness.

I looked over my shoulder at Matsuda for answers; he only shrugged and shook his head, looking as surprised as I was.

I stepped cautiously through the doorway, feeling my way along the walls and trying to squint through the dark. My feet sunk into a thickly-threaded carpet and I patted the wallpaper, searching for a light-switch. "OW!" I inhaled sharply as my shinbone smacked a small, decorative desk. _Why does this only happen to me?_ I hopped around in a circle, trying to rid myself of the aching in my leg. "Matsuda, I think you took me to the wrong ro—"

Before I could finish, someone wrapped their arms around my shoulders and pulled me tightly against their chest. I cried out in shock and a wet cloth was placed over my mouth, smelling strongly of chemicals. I squirmed with all my might, trying to shake the man free. My mind grew fuzzy as whatever chemical began to take effect. My muscles relaxed and my eyelids became heavy. I was down for the count.

That's when every New Yorker instinct I had kicked in.

My eyes shot open and I elbowed my attacker in the gut. He let out a strangled grunt and his grip loosened. I dug my heel onto his toes and gripped his arms tightly, pulling the cloth off my face. Without thinking, I grabbed him by his shoulders and with all my reserved strength, threw him over my hip and into the wall opposite. He flew threw air, yelling loudly before crashing into the desk I had bumped into earlier. The sound of a vase breaking shattered through the room.

I raised my fists and lowered my centre of gravity, my eyes were wide from fright but my teeth clenched together in derision. I whipped my head back and forth in the darkness, trying to catch sight of my next opponent, knowing full well whoever attacked could not have done it alone. "Bring it!" I shouted.

Someone charged and grabbed my shoulders. I dipped low and pulled the person's leg out from under them. They yelled loudly as they fell to the ground hard. Someone else let out a war-cry and grabbed my arm, pinning it behind my back and pushing me to my knees. I used my free hand to dig my finger-nails into the man's hand. He released me and I swung my fist around, clipping him in the face.

Whoever it was backed off. I wobbled slightly, the chemical still having an effect on my motor functions.

Then the lights flicked on.

A disoriented investigation team was revealed strewn about the room. Aizawa was picking himself up from the broken desk and Chief Yagami was checking his glasses for any cracks. The others rubbed their sore spots and inspected bruises, groaning all the way to their feet.

I placed my hands on my knees and exhaled loudly, dropping my head in exhaustion. "Christ," I breathed, "you people really know how to give a girl a heart attack."

The hotel room was painted a polished white with gold trappings trailing along the edges. There were several doors and miniature hallways leading to other parts of the grand suite. The hard-wood flooring was covered with a rose-colored carpet as soft as a cotton candy cloud. There was an alcove set to the side with various kitchen appliances and an island equipped with a stainless steel sink. On the far side was an enormous window that reached all the way to the ceiling with a glorious view of the business district. In front of the window was a placement of armchairs and a pale green sofa. The place smelled strongly of popuri and coffee.

Standing directly beside the light switch, looking rather unconcerned about the chaotic scenery of injured officers, was L. He had one hand placed lazily in his pocket and his shoulders were shrugged, as if he was being held up by puppet strings. He glanced down at me through his dark muddle of hair. "That," he said in an undertone, as if speaking only to himself, "was unexpected."

I wiped some sweat from my brow and straightened, still breathing quickly. I found that with L hunched like that, I was a whole head taller than him. "What exactly is going on?" I sniffed, doing my best to sound demanding. I felt suddenly wary of the men around me. Unconsciously, I responded to my unease by sliding my foot slightly to the left and gently clenching my hands into ready fists.

L waved my defensive actions away and strolled past me without a second look. "No need to take up arms again, Miss Krispy. That was simply a test, I assure you it was harmless."

I spun around and threw my arms in the air, no longer able to maintain my composure. "A test of _what_?" I shouted.

"Several different things," L said, making his way for one of the more comfortable chairs.

"So, I passed then?" I asked, looking from officer to officer. The team, still sore, had already collected themselves and followed L to the seating area. They took furtive glances towards me as they walked past. Matsuda looked at me apologetically, knowing about L's absurd test since I had left the elevator.

"Actually, I would have to say you failed rather dramatically," L positioned himself on the chair, bringing his knees up to his chest and reaching forward for the tea set placed carefully on the coffee table.

"Well," I said, very much perturbed, "good to know."

"You should take a seat, Miss Krispy," L motioned with his tea cup (which he was holding with his thumb and forefinger, as he always did) to the empty sofa across the table. "This may or may not take a while, but most likely the former."

I hooted loudly. "If you think I'm about to do _anything _you say then you have a better sense of humor than I thought! You people _attacked _me!"

L poured himself a steaming cup of hot tea and picked up his first sugar cube, handling it with care. "You are aware, Miss Krispy, that you have been accused of over seven offences to date?"

"Well—"

L inspected his cup of tea, he took a small sip and deducted it required several more sugar cubes before it became satisfactory. "Breaking and entering a prestigious university," he began to list the counts with his free hand, starting with his pinky. "Falsifying a fire alarm, resisting arrest, property damage to numerous privately owned buildings, denting a navy-blue 1999 SUV,"

One of the men, shorter than the rest and whom I'd later learn was called Ukita, seemed to squeal at that statement. He looked over at Matsuda for an explanation with bulging eyes and I realized the SUV we had more than just 'dented' probably belonged to him. _Well, you know what they say about men with big cars. . . _

L disregarded Ukita's reaction and continued. Each item on L's list felt like an extremely heavy weight that had been added to my shoulders. I shrunk every time he named a new act that I was being charged with.

"Assaulting police officers," L peered into his cup, still dissatisfied, "and murder, incidentally."

I guffawed. "M-murder? Who did I murder?"

"A Mr. Kagawa Ochi. Found dead on the scene at Gilligan's tavern."

My mind flashed back to the man with a purple suit and suede shoes. "I didn't kill him," I said defensively.

"You were there, were you not?"

"Yes, but—"

"Matsuda tells me you had a very 'detached' way of viewing the body," L stirred his tea counter-clockwise and watched my reaction intently.

I steeled up and looked over at a very guilty looking Matsuda. "It's not the first body I've seen before," I said, agitated.

"Certainly a man with such a _violent _death would have you at least sickened?"

"It's not the first _violent _death I've seen before either."

L breathed in his tea. "Then tell me, Miss Krispy," he finally decided it was acceptable and took a long drink from his cup, not wavered in the slightest by the scalding hot liquid burning down his throat. He swallowed its entire contents in one gulp and set the cup down on its saucer. "Who _did _kill Mr. Kagawa?"

I rubbed the back of my ear and winced. "Well. . . Kira, duh." I said, and added quickly, "but you shouldn't ask questions you already know the answer to."

L began to scratch an imaginary itch in his toes. "It would appear to the perceptive eye that you are using the premise of a mass murderer to disguise and even justify the accusations against you. It is unlike Kira—"

"It is _exactly _like Kira," I said confidently, "and you know it. So you can stop messing with me, L."

"In this company, it would be more suitable for you to address me as Ryuzaki."

_As you wish, your highness. _I shrugged. "Mm-kay, _Ryuzaki_."

L gestured to the sofa with only a flick of his eyes. "I will ask you again to sit down, Miss Krispy." A thoughtful look passed across his face. "Please," he added promptly.

I hugged myself awkwardly and treaded towards the sofa. I sat down with a FRUMP and felt the entire investigation gawk at me (including a very angry stare from Ukita). My shirt was stained black from the ventilation dust I had crawled through and my hair was knotted and windblown. I had grease stains on my cheeks and orange cheeto dust around my mouth. The bottoms of my pant legs were rolled up but still showed the splotches of mud and frayed fabric. I kept my own eyes fixated on L's toes, they were currently curling over each other for warmth. I found it fascinating. I mechanically dug my own toes into the carpet without thinking, relishing in the comforting sensation.

"It would be best if you answered all of the questions Chief Yagami here has to ask you first," L said and the police chief shifted forward in his chair, pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket.

I tried to ignore the intrusive feeling of the officers' eyes as they bore into me. They watched me like a group of supervisors might watch a mistrustful student during a final examination.

"Ahem, what is your full name?" Chief Yagami sounded levelheaded, but his voice was gruff and direct.

"Ella Marilyn Theodora Krispy."

"What is your age?"

"Don't you know you're not supposed to ask a lady that?"

Chief Yagami glanced over to L, who nodded for him to ignore my comment and continue. "Where were you born?"

"A hospital."

One of the officers coughed. Matsuda slapped his forehead.

"Chief Yagami," L interrupted, "if I may?"

The Chief nodded with a drained look and sat back in his chair.

"What we have concluded is that Miss Krispy is an extremely tactful liar, I am afraid that is all we may discover at this stage," L said, addressing the investigation team as a whole.

I sunk a little deeper into my spot on the cushion, knowing full well I was not liked in this room.

"However, despite this I would still like to speak to Miss Krispy," he picked up the tea-pot once again along with a very small silver spoon and began to tap the edge of the tea-pot suspiciously using the handle-end of the spoon. He took a momentary look back up at the police officers, as if he could not understand why they were still here. "I would like to speak to her alone," he clarified.

The officers, realizing they were dismissed, stood up quickly and gathered their things. It was all very detached; Matsuda rushed past me with barely a nod, Ukita stomped out of the room and Chief Yagami ordered the rest of the team to meet back here bright and early tomorrow. A man standing against the wall enwrapped completely in an overcoat (I had failed to notice him earlier, he had been silent as the grave) followed the rest of the team out into the hall and shut the door behind him.

I was left alone with L. (That's right fan-girls, BE jealous, you know you are.)

L continued to tap the tea-pot with the spoon, as if searching for some kind of flaw in the china set. "When we were speaking on the phone earlier," he suddenly dropped the spoon into the tea-pot and clamped the lid shut. He carefully sat the tea-pot back down and wrapped his arms around his legs, bringing them even closer to his chest.

His dark eyes bore into me once again, searching for answers within my body movement and facial expressions.

It made me squirm uncomfortably, something very few people had the ability to make me do. Despite being unnerved, I couldn't tear my eyes away from his. For a second I thought I saw something glint inside those wells of black ink, something that blazed brightly with passion before it retreated back into the darkness.

"You said my name."

Aren't I daring? Yes, the two words I told L was his own name, a bold move to be sure. I thought when L confronted me about it I would feel superior to him, as though I had out-smarted the great detective. But I didn't. I felt as though I had cheated in a game of tag by using some petty reason, like I was injured or something. It made me feel. . . crummy.

"Do you desire something from me?" L asked, and I could sense a cold aura emanating from him, despite him speaking in monotone. "I must express that I have no intention of paying for your silence in any form."

I said nothing.

L watched me for several long seconds. "If that is not the case then why did you seek me out today at To-oh? You saw through my alias immediately. Are you working for someone? There is a very large list of people who wish me dead, though a very short list of those with the ability to achieve it."

Still, I kept my silence.

L's voice softened slightly. "If you are older than you look, than is it that you know me from somewhere?"

I thought I could hear a hopeful hint in his tone, but it was probably my imagination. L's voice stimulated my senses enough to keep me awake, but my eyes were already beginning to droop. It had been a long day, what with anime hallucinations and all, any more of this and I'd fall asleep on my feet. I knew if I tried to answer any of his questions truthfully then he'd think I was stark raving mad and ship me off to the nearest asylum. There was nothing I could do.

L wasn't letting it go. "If you refuse to answer now then there are other methods—"

"Ryuzaki," I mumbled groggily.

"Yes?"

"Shut up." I was asleep before I hit the ground.

* * *

I woke up in a dark room, tucked safely away inside a bundle of blankets on a four poster bed. I lifted my head up, still exhausted, and looked around through fuzzy vision. I could see pale light streaming through the cracks in the door, illuminating very little. Beside my pillow was a desk with a small, blinking alarm clock. I crawled out of bed and slumped over to the door, listening to the voices from outside.

"Watari, you told me years ago that there was no one left from my past."

"There is not, sir. I am certain of it. Perhaps the girl is a spy as you thought."

"No, she showed none of the signs. If she was indeed a spy then she would have to be a better liar than I am a detective. It is not possible."

"Then I am at a loss sir."

_Oh, I get it. I'm still dreaming. _I nodded to myself sleepily and made my way back to the extravagant bed. I grabbed a handful of blankets and pulled them to the floor. I got on my hands and knees and crawled beneath the bedside table, stuffing the blankets behind me. I wasn't used to sleeping on such a large bed, it made me feel uneasy with so much space. Back at my apartment I slept on a loveseat (the horror), my feet stuck up high in the air and my chin would be pressed against my chest. I curled into a ball beneath the desk and closed my eyes, letting the voices outside lull me back to sleep.

I was certain that the next time I woke up would be to the sounds of angry drivers and pigeons tapping on the window for food. _Too bad. . . _I thought as I drifted into sleep. _This was kind of fun. . ._

_End of Chapter 8_


	9. Truffles

**Chapter 9**

My feet poked out of my cocoon of blankets to be met with a shot of cold air. I whipped them back inside, mumbling something. I was still partially dreaming. I tried to dive back into the comforting mist of my subconscious: Which consisted of being locked in a room with the many personas of the famed Johnny Depp. They were all arguing with each other over the benefits of pineapple flavored socks.

(Needless to say, I didn't want to wake up.)

I groaned, knowing full well I'd be in trouble if I didn't prepare breakfast pronto before Uncle awoke. "Ok," I murmured, my eyes still shut tightly. "I'm up, I'm up." I lifted my head and KONKED it on something extremely solid. Immediately, I curled back into a ball and gripped my head tightly, cursing softly to myself. _Did I fall asleep under the kitchen table again? _

I carefully inched backwards and dragged myself to my feet, letting the blankets pool sorrowfully around me. They clung to my legs, beckoning me to return to sleep, but I forced myself to ignore the temptation. I rubbed my eyes and sighed drowsily as I stumbled across the carpet, feeling my way blindly for the bathroom. _I'll just take a quick shower first. _

I found the door and lurched inside, reaching for the towel rack. I managed to shrug off the prickly feeling of something being terribly wrong and blamed it on the early start to the morning. I was far too sleepy to process things properly anyway. Too lazy to get the light, I enjoyed the solidarity of darkness. Hot water whooshed out of the tap and the room began to fill with steam. I kicked my clothes to the side and stepped into the tub, sighing softly at the soothing feeling of warm water rushing down my skin.

Several things came to my attention at once.

One: We had warm water, we NEVER have warm water.

Two: The shampoo was scented kiwi-lemon fresh instead of my usual strawberry-tangerine.

And Three: Normally my tub is so small my shoulders squish against the side, where areas _this_ shower was luxuriously large.

Covered in suds and confused, I began to consider that this was not, in fact, my apartment at all. I tried thinking back and found I wasn't able to recall anything from yesterday. _Have I ended up in some stranger's apartment? _The idea made my cheeks turn green. _Oh dear. . ._

The tap squeaked loudly as I twisted it off and snatched a towel. I shook my head like a dog, drying my hair half-heartedly. I hastily wrapped the towel around me tightly and picked up my clothes, crossing the bathroom in two quick strides.

I swung open the bathroom door—and shut it as quickly as possible.

There had been a person standing outside: hunched over and holding a gift basket as far away from his body as possible, to be specific.

I leaned my back against the door, breathing hysterically and feeling my forehead for any signs of fever. _It's not possible. _My eyes widened and I rushed over to the counter. I leaned across the granite sink and wiped my arm across the mirror. I gasped at my appearance, exaggerated ten fold by the animated tints and colors.

_I'm still here, I'm still in Death Note. _

_It wasn't a dream._

"OH, COME ON!" I shouted heatedly, tossing my clothes at the wall. I kicked the air and yelled some more callous words (that I probably shouldn't repeat), which only ended with me accidentally knocking the contents of the medicine cabinet into the sink. Breathing heavily, I stared into my reflection. _So, this is real then? Like some sort of alternate dimension? _I glanced gloomily at a broken roll of toothpaste as its filling oozed onto the floor. _Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore. . ._

My head perked up when someone knocked deliberately sluggishly on the door, reminding me that I had forgotten something. I gripped my towel firmly, swallowed some excess spit and opened the door with an aura of confidence.

L was still standing there in the same pose, wearing identical clothes from last night (if not a little more wrinkled). He scratched his pant leg and held out the (extremely large) gift basket. It was expertly wrapped with a vividly bright green bow and I could see an assortment of sweets (some suspiciously appeared to have already been opened) beneath the plastic cover.

Not knowing what to say, I stared at the gift basket (never gotten one of those before).

L, exasperated that it was taking me so long to understand the gesture, spoke first. "I believe it is custom to say 'thank you', Miss Krispy. Welcome to the team."

"Gee, this is so unexpec—"

L released his hold on the handle and dropped it into my arms.

The surprising weight pulled my whole body to the ground, smacking my chin against the floor, "OOMF!" I struggled to pull myself to my feet whilst holding the hefty item, distantly wondering how L was able to carry the basket with only two fingers.

L took a step back to give me some space as I wobbled unsteadily, my face obscured by the giant green bow. "You're not going to lie down on the job like that all the time, are you?" He asked and cocked his head to the side.

"You're absolutely hilarious," I huffed, lugging the gift over to the bed and setting it down amongst the throng of velvet red pillows. "A mirthful, sidesplitting comic is what you are," I brushed my hands off and turned back to him.

L's thumb was positioned softly on his bottom lip as he stared at me.

I placed my hands on my hips and arched an eyebrow. "What are _you_ looking at?"

"You are aware you're still wearing a towel, yes?" He pointed out without the slightest change in expression.

I nearly died.

I spun L around and proceeded in pushing him out the room. "Thank you for coming but I'm afraid our time is up," I said and shoved him out into the hall.

L raised a finger in the air, "One moment, Miss Krispy."

I pressed my lips together and did my best to pretend I wasn't embarrassed (and failing miserably). I tapped my fingers against the door impatiently, "What is it?"

I caught my breath as L invaded my personal space, he leaned perilously forward until our faces were merely inches apart. L eyed my frozen figure for a moment. "You have something in your teeth."

SLAM

I spent the next few minutes flying around the room like a crazy woman in search of clothes, all the while scheming on how to get back at L (I wonder what would happen if I switched his coffee with decaf?) I discovered a beige pair of dress pants and a white collar shirt tucked away in the bottom dresser drawer, problem was: they were ASTRONOMICALLY too big for me. By the time I had finished rolling up my sleeves and pant legs, my limbs appeared significantly disproportionate to my body (like a munchkin who mixed up their laundry with an extremely well dressed giant).

I adjusted the collar and ran my fingers through my damp hair. I left the gift basket beside the bed before nudging open the door with my hip and peeked cautiously outside, working up the courage to face whatever lay ahead. Once I found the nerve, I started to travel towards the softly spoken voices down the hall, passing numerous dreary paintings along the way.

"Ah, Miss Krispy, glad to see you up and about," L was propped up in his preferred chair with his hands resting on his knees, like two pale spiders perched on skinny logs.

The rest of the detectives were sitting on various other pieces of furniture, tired from a long day at work. Unlabelled files lay open on the table in front of them along with steaming mugs of hot coffee. An orange glow streaked through the window as the sun began to set over Tokyo city. I realized I must have slept through the whole day. _What do they call that, jet lag for the trans-dimensionally insane?_

"Miss Krispy will be aiding us from now on," L said calmly as he began to untwist the wrapper of a caramel flavored hard candy.

I wandered over to the kitchen area in search of food; opening and closing cupboards and rattling pots and pans without much concern for the task force's conversation. All I discovered was a half eaten box of instant noodles and some empty Tupperware (which is a shame really, I was craving an omelette).

Grumblings of uncertainty broke through the air at L's statement.

"Ryuzaki, where is this coming from?" Aizawa protested loudly. "Isn't she a suspect in the investigation?"

L placed the candy on his lips but didn't take a bite, as if he was still trying to make up his mind. "No," L mumbled, "she is obviously not Kira, that much is clear," he bit the candy in half.

"What I think Aizawa is trying to ask you, Ryuzaki," the Chief said, motioning for Aizawa to calm down, "is how this young girl," he glanced over at me, "will be useful to this case?" The Chief exhaled quietly at the end of every couple of words, as if even speaking drained him. He looked like he had aged five years overnight: streaks of grey coursed throughout his hair, his eyes were weary and his frown lines much more prominent.

"Truthfully," L said and plopped the candy in his mouth, savoring its taste, "I have no idea."

I felt my eye twitch as I snatched an apple from a decoratively placed fruit bowl and lifted myself up onto the counter. _You really know how to make a girl feel special, L._

It took me several minutes to realize the apple I was trying to eat was plastic.

My stomach growled tetchily as I tossed the useless ornamental piece into the sink and watched it role around the stainless steel walls with a glum expression. _How am I ever going to get home? _I bent my head forward and ruffled my wet hair, as if to try and empty all the loose thoughts out of my head. _Gah! How could any of this happen? There's just got to be a reasonable explanation for all this! _

The officers were looking over at me with doubtful expressions.

"But," L continued, staring at the impressions in the ceiling, "she will be with us for quite some time. I am afraid I will have to ask you to take it as is."

Chief Yagami heaved a sigh. "Very well, Ryuzaki. Is that all for the day?"

"Yes, you may go."

The officers put on their coats and fumbled with their car keys as they walked towards the front door, making faces and mumbling their thoughts once they passed me (I was currently picking at something in between my toes). I heard Matsuda call goodbye before he was pushed down the hallway by Aizawa. I waved absentmindedly over my shoulder as the door shut behind them.

"If you are hungry, Miss Krispy, room service is available at all hours of the day," L said through a mouthful of caramel candies.

I swung my legs back and forth, "Is that so?" I hopped off the counter. "Maybe I will."

I watch L in my peripheral vision as he turned back to his lap top while I began dialing the phone.

It rang twice before a young man picked up.

"Hello?" I twisted the phone cord playfully with my finger.

In perfect English, the man said cheerfully "Good evening! What can I do for you?"

I paused and glanced over at L, who was ignoring me completely. "Is it true that I can order whatever I want, even Western style food?"

"Of course ma'am!"

_Anything I want huh? _"What was your name again?"

"Ryoichi, ma'am."

"Ryoichi," a forecasting grin spread across my face, "I think you just became my new best friend."

L refused to allow any hotel employees into the suite, so I had to push the carts in one by one from the hallway.

It was the most food I'd ever seen in my entire life.

There were mountains of chicken wings piled high on silver platters, every different style of French fry imaginable, shish kabobs arranged in order of spiciness, trophy sized mugs filled to the brim with milkshake mixtures and medium rare steaks covered in special sauce.

I haven't even gotten to the deserts.

Jell-O squares stacked into pyramids wobbled as the white-clothed cart entered the room. There were sundaes, banana splits, soufflés, crème brûlées, cherry sauce, caramel squares and truffle cake.

_I've died and gone to heaven._

I clapped my hands gleefully and hopped up and down. "I don't know what to eat first!"

I pulled out a chair and grabbed a fork in high spirits. But just as I was about to spear a piece of truffle cake, a pasty white hand flashed into existence from over my shoulder and disappeared with the desert. I slowly twisted my head around, my jaw hanging loose in disbelief.

Arched behind me with his _own _fork and enjoying the scrumptiousness of truffle cake that I will never experience, was L. He waved his fork in the air like a conductor's wand, his cheeks bulging. "I'm sorry, were you going to eat that?"

"Err, no. You go ahead." I shook off the annoyed feeling of being scammed and reached for a bowl of strawberries (smothered in three layers of chocolate) Before my fingers could touch a single piece of scarlet fruit, the entire bowl was plucked out of thin air.

L, humming a classical tune, sauntered around the table with both dishes and set them down out of reach, disregarding my evil glares.

"L, there are a million different dishes on the table," I said slowly, my eye twitching, "why do you have to eat the ones I want?"

"A million is quite the overstatement, Miss Krispy. I would say there are merely 26 items—Mm, this is delicious," he licked his fingertips one by one.

"You are unbelievable."

"Why thank you."

I grudgingly snatched a chicken wing and ripped out a chunk with my teeth.

This was going to be a long night.

_End of Chapter 9_

Gotta love L. :)


	10. Candyland

Hey, everyone! This chapter started as a short two paragraph description, but my thirst for detail made it spread (it's an addiction I'll probably never cure). I hope you like it! :)

**Chapter 10**

I remember the precise moment I realized L would be, always and forever, my absolute and irrevocably favorite character.

It was a memorable day, after all.

**Stories of New York Entry # 2**

I swiveled in my chair, listening to the SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK sounds it made as it spun. Amongst cluttered bookshelves were hard-working students, all scanning stacks of books in hopes that a last minute cram session will improve their exam outcomes. Papers swished and the occasional cough interrupted the silence. I sipped loudly on my cherry-flavored soda through a purple crazy straw and scooped another glob from the peanut butter jar placed on my lap.

I sat in front of numerous buzzing computer screens, all flashing sporadically. "Mikal, this is boring."

Mikal was a boy around my age with dark skin and skinny braids twisting down the back of his head (he thought it made him look cool). Up until a few months ago I only ever saw him in our Mathematical Functions class (where I proceeded to cheat shamelessly off of him). He was one of those kids who corrected the teacher and did his homework in pen (you know exactly who I'm talking about). Mikal had a thick pair of glasses that he kept in his shirt pocket but never actually wore. He always has some sort of handheld videogame on his person (the old-school kind, like Pong) and he constantly forgets to tie his shoes.

Mikal emerged from a thorn bush of multi-colored wiring beneath the computer desks and snatched my soda from my hand. "You promised me you would help!" He exclaimed, holding my soda just out of reach.

I gave one last fleeting look to my stolen soft drink before leaning back in my chair and placing my feet up on the desk. "I wouldn't say _promise_, more like. . . a very poorly thought out verbal contract."

It was _that_ time of year, the season where commercialists jack up the prices on mundane items to be bought, then wrapped, and given to the masses as 'gifts.' Mikal and I (but mostly Mikal) were preparing for the annual Christmas parade. Our school hosted one of the many floats (I think the theme this year was Candyland) that participated in the event.

Mikal was given a special job.

And he took said job _very _seriously.

During the parade a happy, warm your toes kind of Christmas special would air across the giant TV screens in Times Square (the sort with reindeer and elves and some kind of lesson being learned by the end). Mikal directed it himself and was extremely proud of his creation. It was a big task, that's why we were using the local library's gigantic modem as a service point (or some other geeky explanation).

He was entrusted with such a vital task because of his high test scores (they were through the freaking roof) and the fact that he was willing to work for free.

(Fun fact: Because of the amount of volunteers like Mikal, an upcoming businessman named Bill Parkinson would receive a Holiday bonus, to which he would spend on a brand-new yacht dubbed _Cherise _after his current secretary/lover.)

Mikal trusted _me_ because I owed him one.

"Just pass me that red cable!" Mikal pointed in the direction of the red-tagged cable as he tried to maneuver back beneath the desk.

I tossed the cable lazily in his direction and peered over the computer screen at the gaunt figure staring at us through a space in the bookshelves.

The librarian who worked on this floor was a bony creature; she had a beaded string attached to her pointy glasses and a frazzled bun that sat atop her head like a grey-spotted muffin. The pincer-like woman stalked behind us, pretending to be arranging some books as she watched our busybody selves through the shelf. Her eyes were magnified to twice their size by her frames, giving her a 'bug-like' appearance.

I stuck my hand in the peanut butter jar again, almost defiantly, and stuck my tongue out at her.

I had my hair tied back in a loose ponytail (it was necessary, I looked like a troll doll when I woke up this morning) and a fluffy red Santa hat placed crookedly on my head (Mikal said it was a uniform requirement if I was to help out with the parade). My t-shirt was a few days old and my jeaned capris were ripped here and there. I had spent all my earnings from last week on a shiny pocket-sized television (which would fall off the Statue of Liberty and smash into a million pieces a few weeks later, incidentally) and didn't have enough left for winter supplies.

This is the time of year I love most, mainly because everyone's got their wallet out in plain sight while hunting for last minute Christmas gifts. I make most of my earnings on Holidays alone and would occasionally find some valuable items, much to Jerry's delight.

I turned back to the computer behind me and clicked PLAY on the Death Note episode I had been watching. The anime had been recommended to me by a friend (I think they were trying to scare me into a life without crime, just in case my name ended up on the news and I was murdered by some psychopath with inhuman capabilities) and I was already on episode two.

Loved it.

My nose was practically touching the screen as I leaned forward, my eyes shifting at the animations. It looked like this mystery detective was actually some Lind L. Taylor or whatever and he was totally about to die. I felt my fan-girl urges begin to surface and I started pumping my fist in the air, cheering Light on.

CLICK

I looked up to see Mikal, covered in tufts of dust and extremely irritated. His hand was placed on the mouse and the episode paused just as I was about to find out what happened. "Will you _please _make yourself useful and attach this," he held up a single black cord with blue, white and yellow attachments, "to that," he pointed to the computer beside me where the Christmas Special program was uploading as we spoke.

I adjusted my Santa hat and nodded with determination. "Anything for you, darling!" I yelled exaggeratedly and shimmied my way behind the row of computers.

Mikal shook his head at the ceiling before crawling back beneath the desk. "Sydney, what are you doing for the holidays?" He grunted as he tried to yank on a large orange plug that was obstinately stuck in its socket.

"Oh, the usual. The whole family's coming over. It'll probably be a big disaster like last year," I said, shrugging nonchalantly. Lying through my teeth had become a habit I won't soon be rid of. It becomes easier and easier to spout a mistruth every time I told one. Honestly, I'll end up watching re-runs of old Holiday specials till midnight, trying to drown out my Uncle's snores (he sounds like a Harley Davidson motorcycle revving its engine when he falls asleep).

"Yeah, same here," Mikal said.

Mission accomplished, I sat back down and spun in my chair once again, trying to make myself dizzy. "So, is your family celebrating Christmas?" I asked, trying to hide my curiosity with a peaceful air. Having a serious lack in the 'family' department myself, I wondered what normal families _do_ around the holidays.

"Nah, but Kwanzaa's in a couple of days. My mother makes me wear this ridiculous outfit, but I usually get a load of gifts," he wiped some sweat from his forehead and sat back to survey his work. "I'm hoping she caught my hints about Zombie Slayer X2G77, I think I was pretty obvious, but you never know." He shuddered at a sudden memory. "Last year she gave me a scarf, with _pink cats _embroidered on it." He dove back into his work, "how about you, did you write _Santa_ a list this year?"

"All I want is World Peace," I said with my hand over my heart.

A pert voice interrupted our conversation. "Ahem—_Excuse_ me, young lady?"

My expression was equal to the one I would have if an extremely ugly horned toad hopped onto my head and drooled slime all over my face. _Who in hell is calling me a young lady? _I stopped spinning and tilted my head back to see an up-side down librarian staring down at me disapprovingly. Her lips were pursed until they turned a ghostly shade of white and her saucer-sized eyes glared at me behind her frames.

"There is no food or drink permitted inside the library," she said directly, pointing at the jar of peanut butter in my lap.

I tried desperately not to gag at the smell of peppermint. She was positively _cloaked_ in perfume, like a noxious cloud of breath mints. "You know, ma'am. _That_ is a lovely shirt," I chirped.

Suddenly flustered, the woman took several steps back. She touched her chest lightly and looked down at her shirt, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks. "You think so?" She asked, blinking rapidly.

"Oh, definitely," I nodded quickly, "you have excellent taste."

The blouse was a brown-grey color with a v-neck collar that showed her pale skin stretched over the top two rows of her ribs. The shirt had washed-out pink flowers blooming up the side and dark lace tracing along the hem (you be the judge). I assumed she was swindled out of a large sum of money for the item in some back alley shop.

I leaned forward and smiled cheerfully. "Can't you make an exception for one of Santa's little helpers?" I asked, extenuating my request by tipping my hat forward. "Just-this-once?"

"Well, I suppose—"

Mikal stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. "Alright, we're done. I'll be able to access the feed from my laptop now."

I clapped my hands together and spun on my heel (forgetting completely to turn off the computer I had been using for my own selfish fan-girl purposes). I started skipping down a row of shelves towards the exit, singing a crude version of Jingle Bells and tapping the books as I went.

The bashful librarian watched as Mikal quickly followed me.

"What are you going to do now?" He asked. "If you want, you can come see our school's float. We've got this catapult that belts candy into the crowd and—"

"Gee, I'd love to," I said, checking my wrist for an imaginary watch, "but I've gotta head to work." I rushed down the lobby steps, jumping past the last four and landing onto a grey-tiled floor with a loud THUMP.

The lobby was a large hollow space that reached up two floors, decorated in the Christmas theme. A giant statue of a house of cards stood against the wall on one side, a mural of an undersea world was painted on the other and a large sarcophagus stood erect in the centre of the room (covered in glittery Christmas lights, mind you). The artwork was donated by some university class as an end of the year project. (I found out the hard way that there wasn't _actually _a mummy in that sarcophagus and ended up being locked inside for a night.)

I stuck my hands in my pockets and made my way to the front entrance.

Mikal hurried to catch up with me. "Will you be able to watch the parade?"

I held open the glass door for Mikal, cringing at the bitter wind that whooshed into the lobby and deeply regretting my decision to buy that mini-TV instead of a winter coat. "Oh, I'm sure I'll have a great view," I said noncommittally.

"That's good," Mikal said, pulling a pair of gloves from his pocket, "it's going to be a blast."

I wrapped my arms around myself and strode quickly down the street, barely glancing back at Mikal. I knew helping him set up his Christmas parade (sort of, I was there at least) wouldn't even come close to closing our debt. I didn't like owing people, but Mikal was a unique case.

You see, he saved my life once.

**A Few Months Earlier**

"You're nothing more than a goddamn tease!"

"Shut your trap you frog-lipped, pimple ridden bastard!"

Karl Weinshouse, a greasy, vile creature that probably crawled out of some gutter and grew legs to join the rest of society, was shoving his yellow-nailed finger directly in my face. He always wore a thickly scented cologne that made my eyes water, as if to mask the constant sweat streaming from his pores. His straw-colored hair was smoothed back, revealing a high forehead and infuriated pig-eyes.

We were standing at the centre of the basketball court behind our school that was closed off by a chain linked fence. Behind the fence stood the rest of the students, their fingers clutching the metal nervously. His faithful posse circled around us like sharks, preparing to close in for the kill. I knew each of them had zero conflictions about hitting a girl, which made me all the more furious.

A few minutes earlier Karl Weinshouse had attempted to make out with me inside the locker room (I know, GROSS). After he failed to heed my graphic warnings of what would happen to him if he didn't back off, I punched him in the face (which I consider a mild punishment for his behavior). A sickly purple spot had formed at the corner of his eye, which gave me a victorious sense of satisfaction.

"Let it go, Karl. You and I both know I can beat you up blind-folded!" I was trying to deter him from a physical fight, not sure if I wanted to take him on alone.

Not that I was _scared _or anything.

Karl had been known to do some crazy things when he was angry. I've heard rumors of back alley ambushes, students who defied Karl would come to school the next day with notable bruises and a diminished vigor in their step. Once, he put fire ants down some kid's pants because he refused to give him his lunch money (the poor guy had to switch schools). Also, although it was never proven, there was a dead squirrel found inside one of the teachers' desks who had failed Karl on his Final.

You can see why I was reluctant to pick a fight with this psycho. I was hoping he would stop while he was ahead, but one more word and I might—

"I'll teach you your place," he growled, interrupting my train of thought. "You're no better than some ghetto white trash!"

_So much for ending this peacefully_. I took a swing at him_._

Karl dodged to the side and tackled me, throwing me to the ground and punching me in the gut repeatedly.

I kicked him in the back of the head, my elbows scraped against the pavement as I rolled out from under him. I tried to back away but his buddies pushed me forward, shouting goading cheers to their comrade.

Karl spit on the ground in front of me. "I hear you sell your body for cash, is that right? I bet you're pretty cheap too," his friends laughed and hooted.

I wiped some blood from my chin._ Count to ten, you don't have to sink to his level. _I tried to breathe in slowly. _One. . ._

Some frightened girls on the sidelines ran inside, crying for a teacher. Mumblings cascaded through the student body as gossip spread like a pestilence. A few people started setting down bets on who would win. No one stepped inside the court to help.

Already miles over the line, Karl continued with his taunts. He took some dollar bills from his pocket and threw them at me. "Go on! Put on a show!"

I watched the paper flutter to the ground at my feet, my fingers twitching. _Two. . ._

He cupped his mouth with his hands and shouted. "We all know you need the money, you live in a freaken dumpster, right?" He raised his arms to the crowd. "Right?" He yelled.

_Three. . . Four. . ._

"I think she's _scared_, everyone!" The crowd began to boo and shake the fence. The shattering sound bounced off the brick walls and filled the air like crashing thunder. Karl turned back to me, his eyes shining in triumph. "Running away from a fight," he shook his head and tutted disapprovingly, "typical Canadian."

_Fi. . ._

Karl's smile faded as he saw me take a step forward, a dark aura filling the air as I walked. I said nothing and Karl, uncertain, took a small step back. I raised my hand and (with every theatrical muscle I possessed) slapped him across the face, making sure to clip him on his bruised side.

Shocked, the student body fell into a dull silence.

Karl remained stunned.

My chest was heaving up and down as if it was powered by a motor. It hurt every time I inhaled, as if there was an extremely heavy object tied around my ribcage. "Karl Weinshouse, you are as intelligent as a barnacle, as beautiful as a cow turd and your breath smells like rotten cheese. I would _never _go out with you in a million years!"

My words resonated through the air, quickly followed by streams of laughter from the students.

Karl swept a strand of sweat-soaked hair from his forehead and looked with wide-eyes at the crowd as they began to turn on him. He glared at his friends who immediately stopped laughing. He turned his onion-shaped eyes on me, fury dribbling through his very skin. "You'll pay for this, Sydney."

I took a small bow.

Then, with as much dignity as I could muster, I ran.

I raced across the court, leaping over a loose basketball and aiming for the gate in the fence. Unfortunately, before I could reach the gate, one of his mates (as per orders from their leader) grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back. I kicked and elbowed him, shouting more insults at Karl's troupe (I've got quite the vocabulary) but to no avail.

The rest of the group pitched in, gripping my arms and pushing me against the fence. The metal rattled and the students on the other side backed away quickly. My feet began to dangle in thin air as they lifted me higher. I felt the cold metal dig into my back harshly and lashed out, but they remained steady.

Karl shoved his way past his pals to snarl up at me. "You never could keep your mouth shut, Sydney." He took out a switchblade from his back pocket. "How about we make it so you never talk again?"

I scoffed. "Who do you think you are, Heath Ledger? Put the knife away, we all know you don't have the guts to use it." My confidence shrunk as he raised the knife to right beneath my nose. _Maybe goading him while he's holding a sharp object isn't the cleverest idea, Sydney._

"Hey, man. That's far enough. We already scared the chick, let's just go." One of his friends, a tall guy with a toned build and a cleft chin, said with a worried expression. He kept glancing over the school doors, expecting a faculty member to walk out any second.

"I don't think she's learned her lesson yet." Suddenly, Karl's face turned solemn. "It's not like anyone will miss her," he said quietly.

Alarm bells rang in my ears. "Woah! No reason to talk like that! Why can't we all just get along?" I asked, laughing nervously.

"What did I say about shutting up?" He bellowed and pressed the blade against my neck. His friends let me go, rushing out of the way and screams chorused through the accumulated crowd.

Fear crept across my expression, my lips started to shake. I swallowed. _Did I do this to him? I can't be _that_ annoying. No. No way. The kid's insane. He's completely out of his mind. I always knew there was something off about this jackass. _"Karl, if this is a joke—"

"You're always such a smooth talker, Sydney," he seethed, "even the teachers like you!" His eyes were red and puffy, buried beneath his eyebrows as he glowered down at me. "You think you're so cool, don't you?"

"Karl, if you'd just _think _for a second you'd—"

"Shut up!" His expression suddenly became calm. He leaned closer and pressed the blade even harder against my throat. "No one's going to speak against me," he whispered. "I can do whatever I want," he paused, looking me directly in the eyes, "and I want you to disappear."

I searched his face for any recognition, but found none. I wanted to taste the life around me around before it was snuffed out, I wanted to breathe in every last morsel of oxygen molecules and be at peace. Regrettably, all I could smell was Karl's foul odor. My chin shook and I quickly shut my eyes, gasping one final gulp of air.

So I waited.

And waited.

But the pain never came.

I opened my eyes, blinking as the sun cascaded through the clouds and lit up the courtyard with a wonderful brilliance. At first I was confused, I rubbed my neck and looked around. Off to the side was Karl, getting his lights punched out by some kid from my math class. The kid was sitting on top of Karl, hitting him repeatedly in the face. _Hey, haven't I cheated off that guy before? _I stepped to the side, pretending I had some dust in my eyes as I wiped away a couple of stray tears.

I watched warily as Karl cried out for his mother as his nose broke and blood spewed onto the pavement. I saw something glint in the corner of my eye. I bent down and picked up the switchblade, flipping it closed in my hand.

"That's enough young man!" A voice hollered.

I looked up to see our principal, Mr. Hodgkins, shuffling quickly past the onslaught of students and into the courtyard. He was a bald man with dark eyes, a slim build and bushy eyebrows. Even though he dressed in a suit everyday, he always wore running shoes to school (I think he thought it made him 'relatable' to the students).

He tore the boy off of Karl, gripping the kid's wrist tightly and shouting at him. The secretary who followed Mr. Hodgkins everywhere he went knelt down to help Karl to his feet. One of the faculty members who was efficiently guiding the students back to their classes looked over at me and pointed. "Hey, that one's got a knife!"

Mr. Hodgkin's eyes shot up and, like a military tracking system, pinpointed the weapon in my hand instantly. "Sydney! Get over here right now!" He stomped his sneaker-adorned foot on the asphalt for emphasis.

I looked down at the switchblade and then over to Karl, who was milking his injuries to an extremely endearing and naïve secretary. "But—"

"NOW!"

**Outside the Office**

I squeezed my hands with my knees and rippled my lips as I breathed out, making motor-boat sounds. I was confined to a single chair out in the hall, subject to listen to the Principal's rants to my Uncle about my unruly and _dangerous _behavior through a closed door. I knew right now my Uncle would be playing innocent, pretending he had no clue why I was such a trouble-maker. He'd probably bring up my family situation for sympathy and offer to donate a large sum to the school.

But I knew I'd pay for this once we got home.

I looked over to the chair next to me.

There sat Mikal, still as a pillar. He'd been staring at the wall ever since we arrived, silent as the grave. His mother had already come in, screaming and crying for her baby. She was in the office with my Uncle right now, getting the rundown from the principal. The glasses that hung on Mikal's striped-sweater pocket were cracked and he had tiny bruises on his knuckles from where he struck Karl. I didn't know much about him, other than that he was part of the Drama department and had a Grade A average (if his participation in our math class was any indication, there was a _reason _I cheated off him).

I looked down at my shoes. "You didn't have to do that," I mumbled sorely, annoyed that I had acted the role of damsel in distress so well, it was not the part I liked to play often.

Mikal glanced over at me with a skeptical look and then returned his gaze back at the wall. "Yes," he said soundly, "I did."

I tapped my feet, wondering if we were sharing some kind of moment (uber-cheesy). "Well," I faltered slightly, not knowing if I should say something worth noting. I managed to pipe out a short "thanks" instead.

After that, I looked for any way to pay him back.

I volunteered for the Drama production of a certain Broadway Musical (I ended up having to substitute one of the main male cast members and fake my way through half the songs. Much to the expense of my sensitive femininity, no one seemed to notice). I helped him with his community hours assigned as punishment for beating Karl to a pulp (it involved picking up garbage off the side of the road with a pointy stick, like prison inmates). Desperate, I even offered to help him with his homework (to which he politely declined).

Nothing ever felt big enough.

**Back in Front of the Library**

"Happy Kwanzaa!" I shouted back to him, flicking my wrist over my shoulder in the semblance of goodbye before disappearing into the throng of mindless shoppers.

The crowd was packed together tightly, sipping apple cider and breathing on their hands for warmth. They shifted from foot to foot as they waited for the parade to pass by, constantly bumping into each other. I saw a child sitting on her father's shoulders and unknowingly smacking him in the nose with her tiny pink shoes in excitement. Many of them were reading newspapers or texting their buddies, trying to spot each other in the crowd.

It was almost too easy.

Any kind of commercial holiday that required the gathering of large numbers of people always paid out. It was like winning the lottery or inventing the cure for the common cold. I blended in effortlessly, my hands moving like lighting (not that I'm bragging. . . much). I made my way through the pockets of the people congregated on the side of the street and back without even a questionable look thrown at me.

Perhaps that's why I got cocky.

There was one man standing alone, wearing a leather jacket and smoking the hell out of a cigarette. He had a military crew cut and a noticeable scar trailing down the side of his chin. I should have taken that as a warning, but my usual caution was overshadowed by the Holiday cheer encompassing Times Square.

As I slunk my hand inside his pocket, he whipped around and grabbed my wrist, blocking my escape. He grinded his teeth together, crushing the remainder of his cigarette between his teeth. It fell to the ground and rolled in between a slot in the pavement, the embers hissed once and died. His grip tightened as I tried to pull away. "What the hell are you doing?" He shouted in a rough British accent.

_Oh crap._

"Uh, listen," I said, scrambling to find an excuse, "I've got a sick little sister and my mother, she's a crack addict and I just—"

He scrunched up his face as he looked me up and down. "Don't even try to pull that rubbish with me."

People shuffled backwards, forming a ring of onlookers around us. They muttered to each other, shaking their heads at me and my disgraceful behavior. A few started checking for their own wallets and began to shout angrily and shake their fists in the air once they discovered the obvious absence.

"Gimme back my money!"

"Someone get the police!"

"Don't let her escape!"

I yanked on my arm again, but the man wasn't budging. I looked around, panic blossoming in my stomach. I saw a man in a blue uniform deep within the crowd, speaking low into his radio for back-up. "Well," I said, shifting my feet side to side and watching as my breath crystallized in the air, "Merry Christmas," and I stomped on his foot with all my might.

The man's grip loosened and he curled over in pain. I sprinted down the concrete, darting through the enraged crowd and bumping people out of the way with my shoulders as I went. I took a quick glance behind me and immediately quickened my pace. To my horror, the scarred man was following me.

And he was catching up.

I took a hard left and burst through the library doors once again. I skidded to a halt, looking around the lobby madly for somewhere to hide. _No way am I getting busted on Christmas. _

A few seconds later the British man kicked open the front doors and stomped into the room. His eyes scanned around slowly as he sauntered forward, clenching and unclenching his fists. "I know you're in here," he said loudly, "give yourself up now and it'll be easier on you."

I rolled my eyes from my hiding place. _Yeah, like that's going to happen._

He began to inch his way towards the sarcophagus. "You have no idea who you just tried to steal from. I spent _years_ in the service back in the homeland." He reached warily for the jewel encrusted lid (it's really just papier-mâché). "And I don't appreciate little brats like you" he said slowly, "ruining my retirement!" He threw open the lid with so much force that it fell to the floor and broke in half.

_Ha, I love it when I win. _

The sarcophagus, as the temperamental Brit was about to find out, was empty. I was _actually_ pressed up against one of the giant cards off to the side, pretending to be a Jack. I watched giddily as the man kicked a piece of the broken lid in frustration, trying very hard to contain my exultant laughter and remain still.

Of course, it's moments such as this when you unexpectedly feel the urge to sneeze.

Imagine how you would feel if someone was shaking a bottle of pepper over your head while tickling your nose with a large feather—I didn't stand a chance.

"AH-CHOO!"

Knowing I was caught, I darted from my hiding place (whilst wiping my nose on my sleeve). A little disoriented, I bumped my shoulder against one of the cards. A domino effect ensued and the entire sculpture came toppling down, sending clouds of rubble towards the ceiling. I weaved through the falling deck of cards (dodging two Queens and an Eight), leapt over the staircase rail and scampered up the steps. I could hear the man scaling the stairs behind me like a never ceasing army tank.

I raced down the carpeted hallway, took a right and ducked into the room Mikal and I had worked in earlier.

I glanced fervently behind me as I raced across the room, checking to see if the man had followed me inside. This action only led to me crashing painfully into a long desk. Sparks flew as cables were ripped from their sockets and monitors came crashing to the ground. Mikal's entire project tumbled into ruins.

I had struck my hip on the corner of the desk and flipped through the air. I could feel my shoulder blades shift apart as I landed on my back and had the wind knocked out of me. Sharp pangs shot up my spine and I moaned loudly, aggravated. My head lulled to the side and I glanced wearily at the damage I had caused. It looked as though the Christmas parade would have to do without a cheesy animated short-film this year.

Mikal was going to kill me. . .

_No!_ I thought strongly. _I can't afford to screw this up for him_. I ignored my tender bruises and raised myself to my feet, feeling revitalized.

I'm going to end up in the slammer eventually but Mikal still had a bright future. There were college scouts looking into his programming talents. If I left now I could end up ruining his entire life. Most of all—I still BLEEPING owed him.

I adjusted my Santa Claus hat and began lifting computer monitors back in place.

It took away precious seconds from my escape but I managed to arrange the computers back in their original positions (at least it _looked _right, anyway). I held a blue and red wire in each hand and heard loud bangs from the outer hallway as that British cop came closer and closer to searching this room. I felt sweat sprout from my forehead and I wiped it away.

_Red wire or blue. Which is it? _

BANG

The door slammed open and my pursuer's eyes locked with mine. "Got you!" He shouted.

I shoved the blue wire into its socket. _Sorry Mikal, looks like fate decided for me. _I dashed across the room, knocking over hordes of books behind me to slow him down.

My fingers curled around the edges of the frosted window as I boosted it open. A sea of heads were visible below, muddled voices rose through the air as I lifted one leg out the window. Floats slowly made their way down the street: one was decorated with dancing elves dressed in burlesque and another captured the 'Ice Queen' theme with silver tassels and snowflakes.

Luckily, a gigantic Frosty the Snowman balloon was passing beneath my window.

Despite being non-religious, I found myself making the sign of the cross. I said my last goodbyes, breathed in deeply and took a leap of faith. I smacked into the side of Frosty's fat ass and slid down a few meters before establishing a firm grip. I looked back with laughing eyes, thinking there was no way this guy was crazy enough to follow.

What I didn't know is that this man used to be a part of the special force that protected Britain's leaders. Recently retired, the man (whose real name is classified, so we'll call him. . . Bob). Bob had just been itching for some action and had no qualms with jumping from tall buildings. This could be considered a piece of cake for a man who took down an entire underground conspiracy armed with nothing but a jar of his mother's homemade jam and a piece of twine.

My stomach dropped.

Bob sailed through the air with his leather jacket billowing behind him like a super villain. He landed a few feet above me, looking down with the expression of a conquering warlord. "You're good, kid, but no one's better than me," he started to skim his way along the plastic in my direction.

**At Ground Level**

Several men and women sat in a darkly lit room in front of a wall of TV monitors, sipping eggnog and munching on a basket of cookies someone's wife had brought in. The screens showed the parade at many different angels being broadcasted to the Network and the gigantic TV screens on the sides of the buildings.

One of the managers, wearing a spotless white shirt with a red tie and a mike next to his ear, tapped one of the technicians rapidly on the shoulder. "Hey, hey, did you see that?"

"See what, sir?"

The manager didn't take his eyes off the screen as he reached for his mike. "This is HQ, Camera 2. Could you zoom in on the Frosty balloon I repeat, zoom in on the Frosty Balloon."

The screen revealed the mid-air chase in progress with the dark-jacketed man and what looked like a kid in a Santa Claus hat.

"Is that part of the show?"

**Back on Frosty's Backside**

_I'm not giving up yet._ I held onto the balloon like a spider monkey and scuttled sideways, pressing myself against the surface like my life depended on it (which it did). I reached one of the supporting ropes and latched my arms around it.

Bob yelled furiously as he realized the stunt I was about to pull, he hurried his pace.

Using my brightest British accent, I called out "Cheerio, mate!" and began sliding down the rope like a fireman (or firewoman).

_Gah! Rope burn! _

I unintentionally released my grip on the rope and somersaulted onto a slow moving float (almost broke my neck). The theme was Santa's Workshop. Children with rosy cheeks, adorned in red and green Elf suits were waving to the crowd, some were pretending to build toy trains or dolls. I ducked low and scampered past them, looking between their figures at the crowd in search of any police officers who might be on ground patrol.

Unbeknownst to me several television cameras followed our precise movements and transmitted it onto the screens above.

There was a loud THUNK as Bob landed on his feet behind me. His body language mimicked the Terminator's, giving me chills. I knew I wasn't out of the woods just yet. I came upon the edge of the float and stared at the pavement as it streaked beneath the tasseled vehicle like a treadmill on the fritz. All I could think about was my bones being crushed one by one as I was dragged under the float and left mangled on the side of the road.

I looked over my shoulder as Bob approached. _Damn. _I jumped, landing on the float directly in front and regaining my balance quickly. Confidence restored, I streaked past dancing mice and knocked over a pirouetting Nut Cracker. This time without hesitation, I leapt to the next float with Bob only a few steps behind me. I ended up hurdling through a Gingerbread House, running into a cloud of cotton ball snow and slipping under the skirt of a Winter Fairy.

Eventually, we reached Candyland.

It was my school's float, decorated with giant red and white Candy Canes, spiraled lollipops and colorful ice cream cones (L would have a field day). A cheery man in lederhosen (who was actually our janitor, Phil) was tossing out treats to the awaiting crowd. I smashed through a curtain of licorice and placed my hands on my knees, wheezing. _That man is a machine, this is ridiculous!_

SPROING!

The catapult Mikal had promised was released a few feet beside me and shot upwards, tossing more tooth-rotting sweets out into awaiting arms. A student dressed like a piece of peanut butter brittle struggled to turn the handle and wind it back to its original position. Buckets of candy surrounded her, ready to be loaded.

PING went the imaginary lightbulb above my head_._ "I just got a _sweet _idea," I mumbled to myself. (No pun intended)_._

Bob arrived 30 seconds later with a seething scowl, red in the face and out of gas. He took a menacing step forward, crushing the candy beneath his boots. "No where left to run, kid."

Undaunted, I inflated my cheeks and scrutinized a tootsie roll between my fingers. "Ah, but that's where you've made your fatal error, kind sir," I carefully unwrapped my candy and popped it in my mouth. "I don't plan on running anymore," I leaned against the lever I had hid behind my foot.

For a split second, Bob looked confused. He looked down at his feet. Underneath the pile of candy I had dumped to disguise it, was the catapult. He didn't have enough time to curse at me before it launched him AT LEAST 15 feet in the air and head-over-heels into the surprised crowd (now THAT should be an Olympic sport). They caught him like a stage diver at a rock concert and started passing him along the sidelines despite him kicking madly like a fish out of water.

Exhausted, I leaned against the front rail, my Santa Claus hat sliding over my eyes. I adjusted it back onto my forehead and looked up, swiftly catching sight of the scene portrayed on the Big Screens above my head.

It was a Live picture of _my _face, spread across six megapixels and expanded for all eyes to see.

At first I looked befuddled, then taken aback. Finally I appeared as though I would shrink into something so small I would disappear. _When my Uncle sees this I'm gonna be in so much_—

Then I could hear the cheering.

The entire city was applauding my performance, unaware that I was not actually an actress hired for the parade. It dawned on me that I was going to get off Scot free. Suddenly feeling like Queen of the world, I lifted myself up onto the rail at the front of the float, raised my hands in the air and shouted "HELLO NEW YORK CITY!"

The crowd cheered even louder.

I grinned and placed my hands on my hips. _This wasn't such a terrible Christmas after all._

**Outside a Starbucks**

Mikal was standing on the sidelines in front of the coffee shop with his laptop in hand. The man in charge of media was breathing down his neck and shouting that he get this monstrosity off his television immediately. Mikal quickly typed the programming orders into his laptop, trying to focus on getting his slashes and arrows right instead of on Sydney's bogus performance.

He looked up, expecting to see flying reindeer and singing elves.

**Back in Candyland **

The screen above our heads showed static for a moment.

The image then depicted not a pleasant Christmas special, but a Lind L. Taylor clutching his chest and dying on screen.

Silence rippled through the crowd like a noiseless fire, except for my small shouts of "Oh my god, he DID NOT!" and "HA! I totally called that!" _Sorry Mikal, I should have gone with the red wire. _Even though I screwed up, I found myself unable to stop from laughing. The Death Note fans in the crowd were easy to spot, I could see them hopping up and down in excitement.

Light was laughing too, his wild eyes and fanatical expression enlarged by the screens. His crazy taunts of L surrounded Times Square, until. . .

An enormous calligraphic L appeared on screen, much like a Hero's symbol lit against a stormy sky. A digitized voice and a quiet piano sequence resonated from the speakers. The music in the background became more intense as Light's mistake was explained for all of New York to see.

L, the _real _one, was still alive.

_OMFG, Light was just PWNED big time._

As I watched the scene unfold, Mikal was busy typing away on his computer.

Eventually, after L and Light both swore to hunt each other down and obtain justice (I swear, it was so awesome I nearly died), Mikal managed to activate his _actual _Christmas special and save the day. As it turns out, one of the Board of Directors from the College Mikal was looking into happened to be an avid anime follower himself and congratulated Mikal with his daring cultural stunt.

So, that was the moment I fell madly in love with L's character.

Little did I know that I would get to know the real thing a little less than a year later.

_End of Chapter 10_

I spared no expense in the making of this chapter! Took me a while to write this, so I went all out. I hope you liked it, I introduced Mikal for the first time and he's an important character later on (it will be revealed in another chapter, hehe). R&R if you're in the mood! :)


	11. Personal Space

_BEFORE you start throwing bricks at me, I'd like to thank each and every reader for sticking around (and graciously dismissing my occasional spelling or grammatical error). You guys are AMAZING (flattery gets you everywhere?) and I am so grateful for all your support. Life gets in the way sometimes, but your consistent reviews and emails are what make me jump out of my chair and cheer knowing I've been a success._

_I know I've been away (BELIEVE me, it wasn't by choice) and all I can say without boring you with my tedious life story is that a series of unfortunate systematic events have hindered my availability somewhat. HOWEVER, I'm back now (though for how long I'm not sure) and I hope this peaceful time lasts. Thus far the further chapters are all written in bits and pieces, scattered throughout my binders and computer files. BUT I can't WAIT to update again! And hopefully soon! (I hope this pleases you, oh wise and powerful fanfic readers)_

_Lots of Love,_

_Satchelle_

**Chapter 11**

"So, do you like, _do _something to your hair or does it just have that natural. . . _whoosh_. . . effect?"

I folded my legs beneath me and sat to attention, placing a purple pillow on my lap. My one hand began fiddling with the tasteless golden tassels sewn into the four corners of the pillow while the other rested contently on my (significantly larger) gut. My stomach was comfortably full and my cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the room. Folds upon folds of the officer's clothing I had borrowed clumped around me like a protective blanket as I burrowed deeper into the sofa cushion.

I watched as a thin, crouching man deliberately pretended to ignore me from across a coffee table. The table was made of glass and had an elegant wooden frame. Two of the table's legs were carved into the shape of a pair of lion's paws, while the other two were carved to look like the talons of a great bird of prey. The dark-haired man was hunkered down in a pinkish chair. His toes curled over the edge of the cushion as though they were his only anchor, and kept his frail body from floating away.

The room was far from silent – filled with the sounds of ticking clocks, rustlings of sofa fabric and _pat-pat-patters _of spindly fingers typing briskly away on a laptop. Earlier I had cracked open a window, allowing a cool breeze to drift through the room. The wind today was slow and lazy, as though it had caught my calm demeanor like one might catch the flu. With it came the scents from the city below: car exhaust, burning rubber, and a hint of greasy fast food that reminded me of Dorothy from home.

L was finding it difficult to focus on his laptop, his thumb was pressed firmly against his bottom lip, his eyes serious as ever. The screen cast a sallow light that made his cheekbones appear sunken and the dark circles beneath his eyes more prominent. On his right, however, was a fiery glow from the slowly setting sun that illuminated his hair like a prickly thorn bush set aflame.

"You know, it's totally all right with me if you use gel, lots of men your age do."

A dry exhale escaped L's lips and he closed his laptop lid half-way, conscious that I was not about to rid myself of his company without a push. "Perhaps there is something . . . _occupying _you could do with your time," he suggested with a listless air.

"But _you're _the most interesting thing in the room," I pointed out promptly.

L flipped his laptop back open and began to type again, signaling that our short conversation had come to an end. "I am sure you can find something else to draw your attention for a while."

I didn't want to move, being as relaxed as I was, but even I could take a hint. I stood up and rolled up my ridiculously long pant legs to my knees, brushing off the feeling that I was being kicked out. "Hey, you're married to your work, that's cool." I rolled my shoulders back, trying to loosen up. "I'll just leave you two," I pointed to him and his laptop with a cheeky smile, "_alone_," and hopped past him to one of the branching hallways.

There wasn't much to see in the suite: two bathrooms, a kitchen, a lounge, a TV room and several guest bedrooms. Extravagant but not special. The bathrooms were each equipped with acrylic bathtubs, the kitchen had a state-of-the-art dishwashing machine and the TV room was decked out with a surround sound system (to which I tested extensively, almost blowing out my eardrums in the process).

That's when I came across a door.

A _locked _door, to be more specific.

Intrigued, I inspected it thoroughly. It was a simple mechanical lock, nothing fancy. I've broken into far more elaborate security systems than this (it's amazing what you can learn on YouTube). The easiest solution would be to scout the suite for the key, but that would risk revealing my intentions to L and render my scheme useless.

_This requires finesse._

I rummaged through the hamper in my bedroom until I found my dreary-looking cargo pants. I took the opportunity to take out all my useful tools of the trade that had been spared the earlier police inspection (and a half eaten licorice) and conceal them beneath my mattress. I held up a foldable leather case of bronze-colored pins to eye-level. Some were long, some short and some had tiny hooks on the ends. "Hello, my babies," I said affectionately.

I kept a hidden lock-picking set tucked safely away inside a secret pocket and took it with me where ever I go. They had proven rather handy on several of my unlawful excursions, not only getting me out of tight fixes but helping me acquire some of my most priceless items. Today, I simply needed them to quench my curiosity.

I licked my lips and jiggled the rod again, trying to feel for the notches inside the lock. It had been six minutes and forty-three seconds, way too long to be kneeling in front of a door I shouldn't be anywhere near. I was jumping at every rustle and sound from the lounge, every muscle in my body was alert, as if individually prepared to bolt incase L emerged from around the corner.

CLICK

I held my breath as I gently pushed against the door, congratulating myself as it swung open smoothly. A buzz of electricity sparked inside my chest, this was exciting. I felt as though I was nearing the summit of a mountain, having gotten past the difficult climb and now only needing to place my flag on the top. I stuffed the pin back into his holster, folded the case shut and shoved it into my back pocket.

I glanced over my shoulder one last time, as though L was about to jump out from behind a potted plant and shout "AH-HA!" Fate seemed to be on my side today, since no interruption came to stop me. I took it as a sign. Long ago having ridden myself of my "Jiminy Cricket" that told me right from wrong, I entered the room swiftly.

The walls were colored a dull eggshell white, though appeared grey in the dimness. They were completely bare, like blank canvasses that had been forgotten at the back of a cramped storage room. No furniture, no windows. It gave me the impression that the room was like a cheap apartment before a new tenant moved in. A single lamp shade sat by itself in the far corner, its long cord was kept in neat coils beside it, like a sleeping snake. Against the wall was a small, one-person mattress with a thin, quilted blanket strewn unkemptly across it. The blanket was petite enough that it could've been mistaken for a young child's keepsake, and colored with red and yellow patches.

I spun around slowly, wondering if I was missing something. _Is this. . . L's room?_

THUNK

I looked down. My foot had bumped against a plain black suitcase with its zipper half-undone. I bent down and carefully pulled it the rest of the way, cringing at the unbroken sound it made as I unfastened it. I waited for a moment, checking the door for any sign of activity before turning back to the travel case. As soft as a sigh, I lifted open the lid, peering into the darkness within. Unable to see much, I opened it a bit further—

WHUMP

The lid snapped shut.

My hand froze so harshly it might as well have been dipped into a vat of liquid nitrogen. I felt my breath shake as I glanced upwards to see a pale foot placed firmly atop the lid. My eyes trailed from the foot and up the leg as it arced like the claw of a praying mantis, passing by a thin waist and bowed torso until finally meeting with large eyes, partially hidden behind a waterfall of dark bangs.

I was caught.

"Why are you in here?" L asked quietly. His tone didn't sound particularly angry, but then again I couldn't detect a hint of emotion from him otherwise.

"Uh, I got lost?" I winced at my own explanation, knowing how weak that sounded. It felt as though I was a young child who had just been caught stealing a jam tart from the top shelf.

"The door was locked," he replied curtly.

"Um, _really _lost?" I tried a small smile.

He gestured for me to stand. "From now on it would be best if you remained within my company," L waited patiently beside the door, an obvious indication that he was not about to let me out of his sight again.

I walked past him, feeling as though I had my tail between my legs. "But you _said_—"

"Yes," he interrupted and took out a small copper key from his pocket, "I've changed my mind," he locked the door briskly behind us.

I hurried to fall in pace with him. "So," I knocked my shoulder against his suggestively, "what was in the suitcase?"

"Possessions," L mumbled, "a change of clothes and such, nothing too excessive," he said it with such ease that, if I didn't know any better, I would have believed him.

Aside from personal privacy, L must have had a very good reason for locking that door. Once I was rid of him, I'd go back and find out exactly what he was hiding in there.

Unfortunately, I was soon to find that it wouldn't be so easy.

**One Hour Later**

He NEVER left the hotel room.

"L, I'm bored," I was leaning against the counter, staring drearily across the room at the super detective, who seemed to have made that chair his new home.

I've already tried two fake bathroom breaks and a sudden 'heart attack' that left me writhing on the floor (he didn't even bother to get up out of his chair). I had even sunk so low as to try pointing suddenly and shouting "Look over there!" I suppose I shouldn't beat myself up over it, he _was_ a world renown sleuth after all, outwitting him wasn't supposed to be easy.

"Isn't that a shame?" L replied, not at all concerned with my extreme case of _ennui_.

I muttered something unintelligible under my breath and glanced dismally over at a partially open drawer. I nudged it open and pulled out a ladle, upon further inspection I also found a wooden spoon. Now, when in possession of two or more 'stick-like' objects, the obvious conclusion is to begin an avid drum solo upon the kitchenware, as decreed by the 'How to Annoy the Hell out of Self-Righteous Bony Detectives' Act of 1952.

TIPPITY TAP TAP, CLANG CLACK, BADDA BANG, BOP!

I slid across the floor and held up the spoon like a microphone. "I don't give a damn about my reputation!" I tapped my foot against the floor and nodded my head to the imaginary beat. "You're living in the past, it's a new generation!" I clinked the sink faucet and spun around. "Hey, a girl can do what she wants to do and that's what I'm gonna do!" I shook my legs in an Elvis fashion and shimmied across the kitchen. With the pretend drums filling my head, my feet took it upon themselves to jump onto one of the diner chairs. I stood on it, whipping my hair around as it slowly tipped over onto its back. I leapt off and rolled onto the carpet. "And I don't give a damn about my bad reputation!" I then held out the spoon for L. "Sing that chorus!"

L just looked at the spoon.

I fell back. "Not a Joan Jett fan?"

Unfazed, L returned his gaze to his laptop without a word.

Silent fumes seethed beneath my skin, giving my forehead a red tinge. I tossed the spoon over my shoulder casually, pretending L's dismissal hadn't bothered me one bit. _Hmph. _

What I didn't catch was the slight look of curiosity he threw at me once I had turned my back. L's mind was occupied by thoughts, trying to calculate what sinister hidden message resided within my actions. He invited me onto the team, not only because he was certain I was keeping vital information about the case to myself, but to keep an eagle-like eye on me. Surely the mysterious girl who crawled into ventilation systems, climbed across buildings and made a mockery of the Japanese police force simply to speak to him _must_ have a secret plot up her sleeve?

The funny thing was, I didn't.

I rubbed my arms from the sudden chill and leaned against the windowsill, glancing up and down the street. The road stretched off into the downtown area and bent into a sharp hill. Shiny office buildings lined the sidewalk, casting a giant shady spot across the road. Yellow streaks from the setting sun reflected off their glass panels, making their surfaces quiver as the rays spun and twirled in a dance of light.

Movement caught my eye.

A small, red lizard was scurrying towards me along the stone ledge. Yellow ringlet designs ran down its back and along its tail, making it even more noticeable against the beige sandstone. It scuttled along the edge of the windowsill, its suction cup feet making PLOP PLOP PLOP sounds as it moved. It stopped in front of my pinky finger, cocking its head to the side and looking up at me curiously. Its eyelids blinked sideways over two, big black spheres.

Unable to resist the powers of its miniature cuteness (where some might find little bunny rabbits or chinchillas to be the possessors of optimum cuteness, I find myself a sucker for creatures with scales). I squinted gleefully at it. "Aw, aren't you cute? Yes woo are, yes woo aaare," I wagged a finger at it.

Its eyes followed my finger for a moment, and then the curves of its mouth opened slightly, as if it was smiling up at me.

"Oh my gosh! You are so—"

CHOMP

The lizard widened its mouth and clamped down on my finger—HARD.

My chest tightened.

"ARGH!" My lungs released a (very manly) cry into the Tokyo air, causing pedestrians to look up in alarm. I shook my arm rapidly in panic. Unfortunately, the lizard only took this as a sign to tighten its grip on my precious flesh. It clamped its eyes shut, determined to hold on for the long run. "GET OFF ME YOU LITTLE—"

Suddenly, a screech cut through the air.

I was leaning so hazardously out the window that the ledge cut into my stomach. My arm was raised as far away from my body as possible, still frantically trying to shake off the troublesome lizard. I looked up to see a shadow in front of the sun, getting bigger the closer it came. I saw the flash of claws and the shine of a yellow beak. _Is that a hawk?_ My eyes widened. _HOLY—_My arms waved in the air in distress as I scrambled to pull myself back through the window (with a stubborn lizard in tow).

Just as the shrieking bird dove, talons outstretched for its reptilian meal, I whipped my arm back through the window. Its claws clamped shut on thin air and it shrieked in fury, swerving away. I stared out the window, both my hands held tightly against my chest. I opened my hands and saw a rather relieved looking lizard catching its breath on my palm. "Well, don't you think you should say 'thank you' or som—"

The lizard opened its mouth once again, this time a pink tongue rolled out at lightning speed and stuck itself directly on my nose.

There was a pause. . .

"AHHH!"

I threw the pest into the air, stumbling backwards. The lizard flew across the room, its tongue wagging behind it. I felt my nose anxiously, crossing my eyes to stare at the tiny red circle that was beginning to form on my skin. I felt a vein pop in my forehead. "Why that no good, ungrateful, cheeky—" I muttered, stomping across the carpet, my eyes scanning the floor for any sign of the miniature devil, one hand covering my nose like a shield.

L watched me march from behind his bangs, though continued to type into his computer.

I lifted up the couch, crawled under the coffee table, pulled out the rug, but it was as though the lizard had disappeared in thin air.

That's when I saw a flash of red.

Guess where.

L had been pretending to silently disregard my outrageous actions this entire time, remaining stooped over his laptop, a bowl of sugar-sprinkled strawberries placed nearby. His laptop was opened proudly on the footrest of his chair and he was staring into the bright screen as if the secrets of the universe were held within its hard drive. He scratched the back of his neck faintly.

Unbeknownst to him, or perhaps he had noticed and didn't care, a red streak lay concealed inside his tangled forest of black hair.

I rubbed my temples wearyingly. _Why does this only happen to me?_ I pointed cautiously at him, wondering how to phrase it and finally deciding upon the direct route. "There's a. . . uh. . . lizard, in your hair."

L looked up. "Hmm? Oh." He reached up leisurely and gently felt for the reptilian. In response it scuttled to the other side of his head, expertly avoiding his grasp. He tried again with the same result. The lizard seemed determined to make a nest out of the deep tresses of L's hair. L didn't look worried. "It appears I may need some assistance," he glanced up at me and pointed to his head with both hands.

I held a careful hand over my nose, unwilling to give the little bugger a target again, and walked behind L's chair. I peered into his tangled mass of hair, using one hand to softly pat away strand after strand. When I watched the anime, I figured his hair was rigid, stuck in that same position all the time. This was not the case, it was softer than I imagined, messy for sure, but certainly not course or chunky. Almost like a disorganized layering of raven feathers that rustled softly as my hand brushed them aside.

I wasn't aware, but L could feel the warmth of my breath spread across the back of his neck and hear my heartbeat quicken. He sat very still, though all his senses were on alert. I also didn't know that, among his many thoughts, he was wondering why my scent was tainted with a kiwi-lemon smell, not aware that I had used a forgotten bottle of shampoo that was left in the suite's shower earlier.

_If someone a few days ago had told me I would be searching for a lizard in L's hair, I would have given them a polite smile and directed them to the nearest mental health hospital. _I thought, grinning in my mind's eye.

Finally, I pulled back my hands, being careful not to squish the critter. L twisted his shoulders around to see and I lowered myself to his eyelevel, holding up my hands between us. We were both very quiet as I slowly uncurled my fingers, showing L the tiny mischief maker. Its body was shivering, its tail curved into a spiral. It looked up at our giant figures with glittery, pleading eyes. Then it sneezed and rubbed its snout against its leg.

I tilted my head to the side. "Well, I suppose when he's not causing trouble he _is _kind of cu—"

SQUELCH

The lizard's tongue shot out and stuck itself directly in the centre of my forehead. I cried out and ended up accidentally throwing the lizard behind me (again), where it disappeared somewhere in the kitchen. The next while involved repetitions of the previous fiasco: searching for the pest, finding it after turning up the entire hotel room, being attacked by its tongue, dropping it and having to start all over again.

By the time we had trapped it in a milk glass, little red circles covered my face entirely. Somehow, L remained completely unscathed. My expression grumpy, I was already thinking of horrid and vile things to do to this scaly creature. I glared at the lizard behind its wall of protection, seething as it stuck its tongue out at me once again. This time the pink organ glued to the inside of the glass and the lizard whipped it back inside its mouth, disappointed it had missed me.

"You, mister, have an attitude problem," I scolded.

It turned around in the glass and haughtily lifted its tail up at me – a rude gesture to be sure.

I yelled at it all the way to the window, talking about how young reptiles should show _manners _to people who could squish them. Watching it carefully as I shook my finger at it, I released it back on the window ledge (keeping him at arm's length. . . just in case). He scurried along the wall and out of sight, leaving nothing but my red-marked skin to remind us by.

I slammed the window shut.

I sighed quietly from relief. "So, where were we?" I turned around and jumped (nearly hitting the ceiling too). L had been looking over my shoulder, watching the lizard as it escaped to freedom. I placed a hand on my chest, telling my heart to calm down. _Doesn't he know anything about personal space? _

L placed his hands behind his back, rolling his shoulders forward in a stretching motion. "How about some television?" He asked.

**In the TV Room**

The sofa was large and made of sleek leather, on either end were wooden handles and when pulled a footrest would flip open. Beside the sofa was a small glass table clearly meant for guests to place their drinks on. The walls were painted with striped tints of green. Glass lamps hung around the room fashioned to look like they were made out of sea shells. Circular pillows were placed around a small table, for those who found resting on the floor more comfortable. At the centre of the table was a short bowl filled to the brim with spring water, floating in the water was a pink lily. Around the centre piece were various other objects, all dreadfully cornier than the next. (T-A-C-K-Y)

I didn't notice any of these small details, however, because my eyes were glued to the absolutely GIGANTIC screen bolted to the wall. In minutes I had become a channel surfing zombie, lapping up the abundance of images and information that was being thrown at me with wide eyes (as is the fate of everyone in my generation).

No worries, I wasn't about to become a couch potato, a certain someone wouldn't allow it.

PINCH

"Ow!" My hands flew up to my head and I ducked away from L who had, until just now, been standing in the doorway. I caught sight of his hand retracting quickly. "What the hell was that for?" I asked, rubbing my head sorely.

"You had something in your hair, a piece of fluff, I believe," L slowly tottered away, making me scowl at his continuous lack of concern for personal space.

With a shrewd glance back at L, I flicked the remote blandly in the direction of the TV. As it switched on, the screen's light washed over me and I slumped back into the sofa. It felt bizarre to conduct in an activity as normal as one of watching television, especially in contrast to the completely abnormal world surrounding me.

Just the thought of the word 'abnormal' had my eyes drifting to the side to look at L, who was placing something carefully inside a white handkerchief. I squinted at him suspiciously as he slipped the handkerchief in his pocket.

_"We are conducting a thorough investigation as we speak." _

My attention was drawn to the screen as a familiar voice rose from the speakers.

A mob of cameramen and reporters surrounded a single man as he exited the police station and trotted down the steps. As I watched him raise his arms to calm the crowd down, my hand shifted to the tip of my ear – or what was left of it. It was now covered with a band-aid, but still stung as my fingers brushed across it. The man spoke again. _"The police are doing everything they can in light of this new case."_

A reporter held a microphone to her lips, staring coolly at a sweaty looking investigator as she spoke. "_You have reason to believe that one of the suspects in this murder case is a young girl?" _

_"Yes,"_ the investigator adjusted his collar. _"She was seen fleeing from the crime."_

I found myself jumping to my feet. "I didn't murder nobody!" I shouted uselessly at the television screen.

The reporter continued pressing the investigator for details. "_We've received information that states that this very same girl escaped detainment after breaking and entering To-Oh University. Not only that, but she was being held in your custody. Is this true?"_

The investigator shifted uncomfortably. _"That information has yet to be confirmed, but we're looking into it. Now if you'll excuse me—"_

The reporter wasn't taking the hint, she took a step to the side and blocked the investigator's escape route. _"But haven't you allowed an alleged criminal to escape from your care before, sir?"_ She was practically shoving the microphone up his nose at this point.

It looked as though the reporter had struck a nerve, because the investigator faltered. Sensing a moment of weakness, the reporter pounced. _"Is it not true that you lost not only your badge, but your credibility several years ago due to a similar incident? Is history repeating itself, sir? Are you capable of handling this case? Sir?"_

The investigator had had enough, he shoved past the crowd of reporters and raised his arm for a cab. The press rushed him, drilling him for answers until he slammed the car door shut, nearly taking off a few of the persistent reporter's fingers in the process. The taxi's tires squealed as it raced down the street.

The reporter turned back to the camera, straightening her blouse and wiping a strand of hair from her forehead. _"There you have it, an American tourist running wild in our very own neighborhood—"_

"MY GOD, I'M CANADIAN! What is so difficult about that?" I let my arms slap my hips, shaking my head in fury. "What an outrage, I should ring them up myself and give them a piece of my—"

At that moment, I caught sight of L's expression. He eyes seemed to shine as he looked at me, as if he'd just caught a mouse in a trap. He pressed his thumb to his lip and took a slow step towards me. "Miss Ella, I distinctly remember you saying how you couldn't understand Japanese."

"I can't," I arched an eyebrow, "why?"

"Is it not obvious?" He asked, twisting his shoulders to look at me more closely. "That entire broadcast was televised in Japanese."

. . .

I started laughing hysterically. "Oh, come off it. You're pulling my leg, right?" I wiped a pretend tear from my eye as I guffawed my lungs out.

His eyes flickered slightly as he quickly searched my face for signs of deceit. He couldn't find any. "You honestly believe that, don't you?" His words were careful and slow, almost as if he wasn't sure of them himself. His mind was working very quickly, trying to search for a plausible answer amongst such a puzzling situation.

I opened my mouth to reply, then paused. My laugh turned into a silent frown. _Come to think of it, why would Sakura T.V televise a big News Story in English . . . in the middle of Japan . . . ? _I eyed him doubtfully. "I don't think—"

He stepped forward, raising his body slightly to look down at me with a fascinated expression. His voice was soft, yet somehow enthralled. "Repeat after me," he watched me intently. "Blue, apple, polar bear . . ."

I gulped, feeling the lump in my throat expand painfully. I hadn't realized how tall L could be when he wasn't slouching. I found myself unable to look him in the eyes as I focused on repeating the words, trying to keep my thoughts from wandering into fan-girl territory. I concentrated on the bridge of his nose, focusing all my attention to that one spot. After the word "porcupine", I waved my hand absently in the air. "What is this all about, L?" I asked, sounding exasperated.

"You just spoke twenty-one different words using twenty-one different languages, including dialects lost over two centuries ago," he himself sounded as though he barely believed it.

_Damn, why does his voice have to sound so attractive? _I gazed at his chest blankly, trying to ignore how close he and I were. "Is that some sort of joke? I can barely speak French, you're being . . ." I felt a tremor run through my body as L leaned closer, examining me like I was some colorful newt he had just caught by the river.

_That's it! _

I took a giant step back to create some space between myself and L, raising my hands to exaggerate my annoyance. "You're being ridiculous! You'd better stop messing with me or I'll—" I stopped.

L wasn't paying any attention to me anymore. He stared at the screen, his eyes round as pebbles and looking as though he was about to bite his thumb off. "This could be a complication," he muttered, his voice cutting clearly through the dark.

The camera followed the reporter as she strutted down the sidewalk. _"The Kira epidemic has plagued not only our nation, but our whole world. Even so, despite the very real threat that is Kira, criminals still run rampant through our city, as shown today. That is why we, Sakura TV, have sworn to do our best to protect you, the viewers, and keep you aware of these criminals."_

Another picture popped up on screen.

It was a photograph, depicting the exact moment a platoon of security guards tackled me from behind. I'll admit, it wasn't my best pose. My tongue was sticking out and my eyes were squinted shut, it looked as though I was about to hawk a loogie.

The reporter adjusted her shoulders as the camera returned to focus on her. _"This picture was taken by a student at To-oh University with their cell phone. It clearly displays the young woman accused of the murder of 47 year old Kagawa Ochi. If you have any information regarding this suspect or this case, please call..."_

L walked swiftly to the desk and picked up a cell phone. He began dialing immediately.

"I don't get it, I'm innocent. What's the problem?"

"Have you forgotten so easily, Miss Ella?" L held up the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. His tone was brisk. "Kira kills criminals. You have just been labeled as such on a national television network."

He left me to put two and two together.

"But—but they don't have my name!" _And even if they did find out and broadcast it, 'Ella Krispy' is still only an alias. _I relaxed. It had been dumb luck that I hadn't used my real name, now it appeared to be a blessing.

L began tapping his fingers against his pant-leg in an impatient motion. "Perhaps not, but there are still some inconsistencies with this case that could place you in what some may call 'a direct line of fire'." He headed for the door, phone still in hand. "It would be rather. . ." he stopped to search for the right word, ". . . _inconvenient, _for you to be killed at this ti—Yes, Watari, have you seen the news?"L disappeared from the room.

I watched him go with an agitated expression. _Gee, aren't you the charmer? Don't worry, I won't die unless it's 'convenient' for you, L. No worries there._

That's when a thought struck me.

_Misa Amane. _

_What about Misa?_

The only thing Misa needed to kill was a face, if she caught wind of that television broadcast . . . My thoughts raced across the series, trying to remember when the gothic sub-cultured model had made her first appearance. _Oh no . . ._

If this world followed the original timeline of the Death Note story, then that would mean—

Misa has already received her Death Note from Rem.

_Great, I just got here and I'm already dead. _I slumped back onto the sofa, staring glumly at the ceiling. _Not only that, but I'm killed by someone with all the developed brain cells of a slug. _I covered my face and groaned.

So here I was, waiting for my chest to seize up and my heart to pound its last painful beat before I keeled over. I don't know how long I waited, but at some point I had grabbed a small pillow and clutched it to my chest, staring morbidly into open space. I tried to stay awake, but believe it or not open space can be an extremely boring thing to look at. Eventually, my eyes grew heavy and my breathing even. I began to drift off into an uncomfortable sleep.

**Later: In the Lounge**

"You've used the pressure of the police to cancel any further broadcasts, correct?"

"It's been done, sir."

L stirred a cup of sweetened tea. He set down the spoon and blew gently over the hot liquid. "New data has been revealed, yet it only complicates the case further." He looked into the china cup, staring at his reflection. Despite Watari's presence, L seemed to be talking to himself. "There is only one solution for now and that is to acquire more evidence." L took a long sip from his tea and held up a small, white handkerchief.

Watari gently took the handkerchief from L's fingers.

L licked his lips. "Ah, delicious," he waved his finger absently at Watari, "you will find a few hairs within that cloth along with fingerprints on some of the silverware. I'd like you to take them to forensics and have them run it through their database, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Watari bowed slightly, his trench coat rustling against his primped suit as he moved. His face was obscured by the rim of a large hat, only his dusty-colored mustache could be seen. "What tests would you like to have them conduct?"

L set the cup down, its CLINK ringing in the air. It was as though a determined fire lit his words, he his tone heavy, his face dark. "All of them."

Watari nodded obediently and left the room with wide strides.

L pushed the saucer cup across the coffee table, listening to its expensive china scratch the surface of the glass. His mouth was a thin line and his eyes were two solid stones. His body seemed to radiate with an unrivaled determination. "I do enjoy a challenge," he mumbled to himself.

**Even Later…er: TV Room**

Grumble . . .

". . ."

Mutter . . .

". . ."

Sigh . . .

I turned over in my sleep only to crudely discover that I had run out of cushion. I crashed onto the floor chin first, the rest of me following quickly afterwards. Getting a mouthful of carpet, I grunted wearily and slinked into a sitting position. The TV was still on, creating ghostly images that spread over the walls. I wiped a drizzle of drool from my chin and stretched, feeling the sore knots in my shoulders and lower back rub together.

"Ah, you're awake."

"AH!"

BANG!

I found myself fallen sporadically against the cabinet beneath the TV. One of the glass panels had opened and above me stood perfect, porcelain figurines. There was a woman with a frilly parasol and pointy shoes, a mischievous little boy and twin girls smiling behind their hands (I'll be honest, they creeped me out). I moaned loudly through my teeth and let my head THUNK against the cabinet again, just in case I didn't get enough of a bump the first time.

Just as I was picking myself up, the voice that had startled me before whispered in my ear. "Are you alright, Miss Ella?"

"AH!"

CRASH

I looked up at L, who was crouched down next to me, bouncing on the balls of his feet. (I swear I could see stars circling my head, having bumped against the cabinet once again). I groaned. "What is _with _you and sneaking up on people?"

"My apologies, Miss Ella. I only came to ask you a question."

_What? Not going to help a lady to her feet? _"Yeah?" I asked sarcastically. "What is it this time? Do you want to know who stole the cookies from the cookie jar? Because I have to tell you, Kira's behind that too."

L waited a moment, watching as I continued to attempt to regain my senses. "I see, you are short-tempered from exhaustion."

I threw my arms limply to the ground childishly, glaring at my feet. "So what if I am?" My eyes felt cloudy and my lungs heavy. If I wasn't so tired, I might have taken the time to relive the fear of Misa and her death note. L, as it turned out, was a very good distraction.

"My question—" he reiterated.

"Yes, yes," I cut him off, in no mood to deal with L and his quirks. "Ask away."

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin and glanced up at the ceiling. "Perhaps I should wait until you are fully rested," sounding more like he was talking to himself than me.

I threw my arms in the air in a huff. "Out with it!"

He spoke very quickly and quietly, as though it were of utter importance I answer correctly. "Have you always had that birthmark beneath your left breast, or was it a recent apparition?"

Stunned into silence, I sat there, wholly dumbfounded.

L waited, he might as well have been a child for how innocent he looked.

I stared at him. "L," I asked very quietly, "how did you know about that?"

Yes, I had a birthmark. You can see it in a small photograph I keep in my apartment back in New York City. I hide it along with a few other precious possessions of mine beneath a loose floorboard next to the bathroom sink (not the most original hiding place, but it's definitely effective). The picture depicted a four year old me, stark naked if not for a pair of pampers princess pull-ups, gleefully jumping through a sprinkler on a sunny day. A small brown blotch could easily be seen splattered across my fourth rib (something I always considered to look a bit like a smiley face).

I quickly found that my face had flushed to a frightening shade of red, reacting from a melting pot of mortification, embarrassment and fury. My fingers slowly curled around an object on the table behind me and I felt my shoulder pull back and my arm tense. "You . . . you JERK!" I shrieked, tossing it at him like a pro pitcher in the last inning.

The object, which happened to be a wooden duck (I don't know WHY the duck was a part of the decorations, maybe it stood for something spiritual?), bounced off the centre of L's forehead and clattered to the floor, rolling away. Surprisingly, his expression remained completely unchanged, as though he hadn't felt the impact at all. Slowly, he bent over and picked up the duck, rolling it between his fingers. "Was that supposed to hurt?"

My ears steamed. "Why you—!" I grabbed whatever I could reach; raising the pillows from the sofa back over my head and launching them like boulders on a catapult, frisbeeing the bowl of lilies as though it were a deadly shurikan, throwing a lamp like a pro-Olympian competing in a javelin toss, and anything else I could find. If you're having trouble picturing it, imagine an apocalyptic rain of corny decorations, and imagine that rain being hurled directly at L's head.

L made dodging the items look easy. He took one step to the right or left to avoid serious injury, and swept away any he didn't dodge with his forearms as though they were as dangerous as paper airplanes.

This carefree attitude only aggravated me more. I got my hands on the porcelain figurines in the cabinet and clutched them tightly. "DON'T-YOU-KNOW-ANYTHING-ABOUT-PERSONAL-SPACE?" With each word, I threw a different miniature statue in his direction. The pale woman with the umbrella shattered into a million pieces on the wall behind him (he ducked), the rosy-cheeked child was decapitated as he brushed it out of the air, and the twin girls with the flowery hats broke in half and scattered to the far corners of the room.

L slowly lowered himself, gently picked up a piece of the broken porcelain and examined it beneath the light like a piece of crucial evidence. His voice was quiet and inquisitive. "I am beginning to think you are upset with me."

"You're such a-a-a—" My tongue caught against my teeth. I shook my head, wide-eyed, unable to find the right word. Finally, it came to me. "You're such a SMART ASS, L!" I marched out of the room, making sure to slam the door behind me. One question plagued my mind as I stomped down the hallway, heading for my room. _How? HOW did he know that? _I shudder ran up and down my spine, tingling like a thousand bristles beneath my skin. _What if he had cameras in my room? Or worse, the shower? THAT BLOODY PERV! I'LL MAKE HIM PAY, I'LL THROW HIS ASS OUT A BLOODY WINDOW! OR A SPEEDING VAN! OR OFF A TWENTY STORY BUILDING! _My mental rant continued as I threw open my door, trudging gruffly inside. I flicked on the light. Immediately my eyes shifted back and forth, looking for the glint of any hidden cameras tucked away in the dark corners of the room. _He'll rue the day he crossed a Canadian! Polite my ass! I'll take a goddamn hockey stick and shove it so far up his—_

SLAM

I spun around, my gaze slowly rotating from right to left. The door behind me had closed shut, but no one was in sight. I took a step forward suspiciously. "L, if that's you I'll have you know—"

ZZZZ ZAP ZZZZ

The lights flickered on and off, buzzing like a swarm of hyperventilating bumble bees. I unconsciously slowed my breathing and quietly stepped back, turning my head to survey the room. I jumped as the bed frame began to rattle and shake, then cried out as the closet door began to open and shut, clapping loudly. A sharp wind began to swirl around the room, picking up bits of dust the maids had missed and churning them in a twisting vortex. My hair-tie came loose and my hair, now free, beat against my face. I clamped my hands over my ears. "L, IF THIS IS SOME SORT OF JOKE—" I shouted, straining to be heard over the wind and rattling furniture.

Then the lights went out.

Everything stilled. Total darkness fell over me like a suffocating blanket. Cautiously, I lowered my hands from my ears. My body was rigid as a very light wind, almost like breath, brushed the back of my neck. I spun around blindly, feeling for the culprit but finding none. I wanted to speak, but it was as though the darkness was stuffing itself down my throat, muting my voice—or perhaps it was fear. An undeniable feeling of dread weighed down on my shoulders, making my feet sink into the carpet.

Then, two glowing yellow eyes appeared in the darkness. They were sharp and angled, like a cat, but big as saucer dishes. _"Took long enough, human." _The voice slithered through the thick air and a high pitched cackle erupted from an invisible throat, giddy with its discovery.

Fear gripped me like a rusty iron bear-trap clamping down on my jugular with deadly force.

_It_ had found me.

_End of Chapter 11_

I hope my writing is still up to par, it's been a while. Cliffhangers are certainly my specialty, aren't they? And here I am, leaving you with no idea when I'll post the next chapter. Tsk tsk. I am certainly an evil fanfic author, aren't I?

Again, lots of Love,

Satchelle


	12. A Door, A Feather and a Scab

**Chapter 12**

A wall of purple smoke siphoned towards the ceiling, swirling chaotically. I gasped and the smoke, taking the opportunity in stride, curled upwards and into my throat, filling my lungs and making my head spin out of control. I shut my eyes tightly and stumbled back, slamming against a wall. I tried desperately to wave the smoke away with my hand, but it had no effect. Managing to hack a cough before sliding to the floor, I covered my head with my hands and curled into a protective ball.

Thousands of clocks ticked around me, pulsating sporadically, all dinging and pounding and whistling like schizophrenic thunder. The blazing heat of the sun burned my skin into charred and flaky pieces while a limb-snapping arctic chill coursed through my veins like acid. It felt as though my brain was being hurled against my skull repeatedly to the beat of my heart, slowly driving me more and more insane until—"ENOUGH!" I roared.

Everything stopped.

My fingers, still shaking, carefully released their grip from around my head. I looked up, and nearly lost my breath. I was not in the familiar hotel room, in fact, I wasn't in the hotel at all.

I was now in a . . . a small _meadow_?

A never ceasing breeze rippled the teal colored grass, fanning it around me. Dark mangled trees bordered the area. Their bark was blistered, as though they had recently been burned. The trees craned their branches towards a lush purple sky. Two crescent moons, one half shadowing the other with pink light, were suspended amongst thousands of bright stars that zoomed back and forth dizzyingly.

_Just when I thought it couldn't get any weirder. _

A snicker behind my left ear startled me to a standing position. The strands of grass bended away from my touch like wriggling worms, tickling the soles of my feet as they moved. I spun around, my eyes searching frantically for the source of the sound. "Show yourself!" I demanded.

Like a thieving fox, a swift shadow darted between the trees. I could hear the scratching of claws against bark and another chorus of devious snickers erupted, like a group of school children who were laughing about teepeeing their principal's house. The bushes next to me rustled and I jumped back, raising my fists to guard my face.

The bush rustled again.

_Only the brave are victorious. _I thought to myself. I put one trembling foot in front of the other, trying to tread as softly as possible. I carefully reached one hand out towards the bush, leaning my body tentatively away at the same time. I tensed in preparation and gulped. I gently pulled back a branch—

Something burst out of the bush with the force of a firecracker, sending leaves rocketing into the air like confetti. "BOO!" It shouted.

I stepped backwards, tripped over my feet and toppled over. My arms flung back at an awkward angle but I managed to catch my fall on my elbows. I scrambled backwards madly, digging my feet into the dirt as I tried to distance myself from the horrific creature.

Th-the _thing_ was currently floating in mid-air, holding its stomach and doubling over in laughter. "Never gets old!" It said between breaths.

It was a goblin, hovering much like a helium balloon that was beginning to die. Little white bones protruded from its minute bat wings and curved into sharp tacks as they fluttered leisurely. Yellow eyes the size of tennis balls were sunken deep into its skull, rolling around loosely as its head bobbed up and down. Curled incisors protruded its lips, clacking every time it giggled. Its skin was grey and shriveled, as if it had been mummified alive. Bright pink tufts of hair stuck out awkwardly from different areas of its body and thick framed glasses perched on an upturned nose (it's a new fashion trend). A tiny black notebook was held tightly between skeletal fingers.

The goblin wiped a wad of spit from the corner of its mouth that had escaped during its mirthful fit. It adjusted its glasses and cleared its throat. "Ahem, human, you are hereby required to adhere to the laws of this sector—"

"What the hell are you?" I cried loudly (and rudely), my eyes were near to popping out of my head. I scrambled to find my footing, staring openly. One of the moons hanging in the sky was moving slowly towards its twin, as they began to cross each other the trees in the clearing turned a scorching orange color.

The goblin glanced at the trees sideways. "Ignore that, it's simply light refracting with the gases on this world that trigger a bioluminescence with the flora. Now—"

"We're on another world?" I yelled, backing away from the goblin as much as I could.

"Yes, but its safe. This place has been long ago abandoned, it doesn't even have a Gatekeeper. If you'd just—" The goblin was slowly progressing its way towards me.

"Stay back!"

The goblin was obviously not in the mood to be taking orders from a "human". It quickly zipped across the clearing and stopped directly in front of me, peering into my eyes through its thick spectacles. It sniffed several times, frowning. It then squinted and looked at me intently with one eye, the action made its revolting features seem lopsided. "Haven't you been briefed already?" Its long claw like fingers tapped its notebook irritably. The book was constantly slipping between its fingers, threatening to fall onto the ground.

I tried to put on the best 'New Yorker' expression, it involved pouting out your lips while trying hard not to blink and raising your eyebrows in a 'What? You wanna go?' kind of way. "What do you mean _briefed_?" I asked with as much attitude as I could manage, trying to ignore that I was trying to have a conversation with a floating goblin.

The goblin slapped its notebook against its forehead and mumbled something incoherent. "You've got to be kidding," it muttered under its breath while turning to fly away, "I had to get a _noob _of all things."

_Did he just call me a noob? _I, not wanting the conversation to drift from my directive, spoke up. "Where are we?" I asked again.

It turned its head to look over its shoulder (actually, it swiveled its entire neck around, imitating a creepy version of an owl) and looked at me with a tired expression. It waved its hand, motioning at our surroundings. "You wouldn't understand, this place as been dead for eons now, just consider it . . . no man's land."

"What's that?"

The goblin's head seemed to have gotten stuck in that position, because it clapped its hands on either side of its skull and struggled to twist it right-ways around. "It doesn't belong to anyone. There's no need for a Gatekeeper, so it's an ideal meeting place. I can simply summon us here without anyone having to grant me access."

I didn't have a clue what any of that meant. "So, what are you?"

It finally managed to correct its head with a sickening crack. "I am the great Scab, executive assistant to the Shinigami King himself!" It scoffed, as if deeply offended I had no prior knowledge of its occupation.

"You're a little _small_ for a shinigami—"

"Th-that's a common misconception!" Scab sputtered.

"How come I can see you?"

Scab's expression turned to one of an underhanded and sly character. "You can see me because I _want _you to."

"I didn't know shinigamis could do that."

"There are plenty of things you don't know, Sydney." Scab scratched a tuft of pink hair below his armpit.

I paused. "How do you know my name?" I asked suspiciously.

Scab looked taken aback. "I'm a shinigami, I can _see _you're name, of course," He started flipping through his notebook, searching for a certain page. "Ah, there it is, section 9. I am required to read you the rules—"

"There are _rules_?" I felt as though I was splashing in a public pool, and the lifeguard was blowing his whistle, ordering me to stop horsing around.

"Of course there are! You can't just go gallivanting between worlds and expect free reign! Do you have any idea the _damage _you could do? All of time and space may be altered just because you decided one morning you wanted a hotdog from a parallel universe!"

_He lost me. _"And here I thought I was hallucinating in Death Note, now it seems I've entered Doctor Who, fantastic," I mumbled to myself. _Maybe if I tap my heels together three times I'll magically be sent back home. _

"Silence human! Ahem. Rule one, no revealing future events," he eyed me suspiciously, no doubt recalling the moment I had nearly revealed who Kira was to Matsuda on the elevator. "Rule two, in this sector the existence of shinigami will _remain _a secret." He looked up at me sharply. "The shinigami as a people are very strict when it comes to travelers. Not like those liberal pirates one universe over. . ." he muttered the last part to himself, then continued. "I myself was almost executed when they discovered I had the gift, luckily the King saw my potential and gave me this job," he lifted his chin up proudly.

_I wonder if the "liberal pirates" are from a One Piece universe? Maybe all the anime Universe's are near each other? _Slowly, the cogs in my brain began to spin, and I started fitting the pieces of the puzzle together. I pressed my lips together and used my knee as a support to stand. "I'm sure the King told you it was a _very special job," _I said, as if speaking to a small child.

"Now hear th—"

"Perhaps they wanted you out of the way," I suggested.

"I am a deeply intimidating—"

"I'm sure your size is _very _intimidating," I looked him up and down, tutting softly. "First dwarfed shinigami I've ever seen (first shinigami I've seen period), it's sad really," I shook my head and crossed my arms.

Scab's cheek bones turned a deep shade of red. He was so angry that all of his words were incoherent (or he was speaking another language) and he seemed to lose all control of his salivary glands. I could hear the bones underneath his thin layer of craggily skin knock together from his furious shaking. He slammed the pages of his notebook open and pulled out a pen that had a mouse skull perched on top. "Damn me for trying to give you a chance! I failed in killing you before, but there's no way you'll survive the notebook twice, foolish human! You'll pay for your lip!"

I took a step back. _What? He's tried to kill me before?"_

That's when something REALLY strange happened (if the events leading up to this weren't freaky enough for you already).

The comforting smell of burning newspaper and crackling wood rose through the thin air, drifting into my nose and making me breathe in deeply. Memories of long nights standing around a rusty barrel filled with cooking cardboard and a circle of shivering, thickly bearded men (and a few hairy women) beneath freeways and train tracks flooded my mind's eye.

A man's voice slid smoothly over the night, sounding like the white crest of a wave before it came crashing down onto the surf. "I'd think twice if I were you, Scab."

I saw Scab shrink back into the shadows, his tiny fists trembling. "YOU!" He screeched, pointing an accusing finger in the voice's direction. His tiny wings were shaking like dusty rattles. Rage boiled within him with so much force that his stomach must have been displaced, since acid began to sizzle from beneath his skin, creating a disgusting burst of scents that hung around his small carcass of a body.

I twisted my neck around, my body swiveling in sequence a second after. I saw a man dressed in simple western clothing, sitting on a lawn chair and poking at a campfire (that had apparently appeared out of thin air) with a short stick. His face was hidden behind a long curtain of dreadlocks and a tilted cowboy hat, but I could see him chewing on the end of a red feather, as though it were a piece of straw. The flickering light from the fire cast an eerie glow over his body, making his skin appear more gold than brown.

Flabbergasted, by tongue was barely able to form the syllables I needed. "Jerry?" I sputtered. "What are you doing here?"

Jerry lifted his head, showing off a smiling row of white teeth. He plucked the feather from his mouth and opened his arms wide, as though offering a hug. "Sydney! Good to see you!" He jumped out of his chair and stuck the feather in his shirt's pocket. "Or, is it Ella now? Clever thinking on your part, very impressive."

"You cheating scoundrel!" Scab shrieked. "How dare you show your face in this sector again!"

Jerry scratched the back of his neck and laughed, not fazed by Scab's ferocious words. "I'd watch that tongue of yours, use it too much and it might just fall off."

I couldn't help but sense a threat behind Jerry's cheerful statement, perhaps it was his eyes that gave it away. They were two dark pools of ancient power, swirling behind his carefree demeanor, like deadly whirlpools of ink. I could tell Scab had taken the hint, because he was biting down on his tongue until it bled blue liquid, holding his notebook for reassurance.

"She's under my protection," Jerry said.

"I should have known you had something to do with that," Scab grumbled sourly, "no wonder that gunshot missed."

_So, that investigator's gun went off because of Scab? _The wound in my ear now seemed more like a blessing than a painful scar, just proof of a near miss. _No doubt Scab was ordered to kill me by his "King", from what he's said, shinigami don't like strangers on their turf. _ "Jerry," I mumbled slowly, inching towards him, "can you explain any of this?"

"I can explain all of it!" He said joyfully. "But first," he snatched the stick he had left near the fire and held it out for me, "would you like a marshmallow?"

My eyes crossed as I stared at the burnt snack food, a singed bubble popped out of its black crust. "Uh…no, but thank you."

He shrugged and took a big chomp out of the marshmallow. "Your loss," he said through a mouthful of melted sugar.

"Jerry—"

"Yes, I almost forgot. Well," Jerry swept his hand out in front of him, and the fire died to little more than burning red embers. He then gestured to the sky above and its purple light brightened, responding to the movement. The stars began to spin, telling a story. "A long time ago, there were the first Seven. The Leader, the Seeker, the Librarian, the Monk, the Warrior, the Temptress and the Traitor." The stars showed a group of men and women, walking across the sky. "Each were granted an item that allowed them to step in and out of worlds."

I didn't notice that the tendons in my neck were becoming sore as I watched in awe at the unfolding tale. I made out the dazzling outline of a man in a cowboy hat, spelling out symbols in a cloudy pink nebula with a large feather.

Jerry continued. "The Seven have long broken apart, spread out across billions of universes and times, but their influence still remains. These influences are called gates," he motioned to the empty air behind him and the white outline of a door flashed and disappeared. "Sometimes, the inhabitants of worlds are touched with this elemental magic, and are able to open these doors," Jerry glanced up at Scab, who had his arms crossed and was pretending he wasn't listening. "Our shinigami friend, and yourself, are some of these few. If you hadn't been exposed to the energy in my shop for so long, you would have died when crossing worlds."

I rubbed my forehead, as though trying to scrape away my confusion like sandpaper to a two by four. "But, Death Note is a manga on Earth, it's just a story," I said.

"I told you, Ella, stories are important," he started stroking his feather absentmindedly. "They're a connection, a thread that can pierce the barriers between worlds," the dimming firelight sent a metal toned gleam flashing across his eyes as he looked at me, "and they can be an escape."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Jerry, but this is just too bizarre. I want to go home."

"Good riddance," Scab scoffed.

Jerry clasped his hands together and smiled down at me. "No chance!" He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, pushing me towards the door he had mentioned. It was now a blazing white color that made my squint. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear. "Don't worry about the likes of Scab or those other spoilsport Death Gods. I've given you protection, but you can die like any other ordinary human, so don't be careless."

I dug my heels into the earth, resisting Jerry's gusto. "Just send me home!" I shouted, grinding my teeth together.

Jerry didn't even slow down. "Most of all, don't forget to have fun!" He called out enthusiastically as I felt myself tip into the glow of the door.

My mouth opened in refusal, but no sound came out. I was falling head over heels through the light. It pressed against my eyelids, trying to force its way inside. I struggled, but it pulled me down further, as though it were alive. The whiteness turned into a bursting rainbow of colors, flashing faster and faster until, suddenly, everything went black.

_End of Chapter 12_

Thanks for reading, everyone. Even though its shorter it took a while to put together. I've been told that I need more L scenes (there are going to be a LOT more of those as their relationship progresses), but the flashbacks are imperative to the overall plot and I NEEDED to put an explanation somewhere, so I stuck it here. However, I hope you'll be pleased to know that Chapter 13 covers the SUPER AWESOME tennis match (HOORAY), so if you've been L deprived, fear no more.

Can't wait to update soon,

Lots of Love,

Satchelle


	13. Tennis Is Sexy

**Chapter 13**

**Ella's POV**

**Brace yourselves, readers…**

"DAMNIT! L, if you don't take off these handcuffs right now I'm going to get angry! And trust me, you won't like me when I'm angry." I, although peeved, couldn't help but mentally snicker at my own Hulk reference. _Oh, I'm so cool._

L braced his hand on the headboard, just above my shoulder, and leaned closer. I could feel the heat from his breath on my nose, and tried to pull away only to find myself pressed against the wooden frame of the bed. The mattress creaked and groaned beneath his knees as he moved closer, until only a precious gap of air molecules separated our lips.

Shit just got real.

From where I lay, I couldn't see his eyes from behind his bangs, so I wasn't sure if he was making fun of me or being serious (either way, my heart nearly badump-dumped out of my chest). What I could see, however, was his mouth. Thin, pale, slightly parted, a twitch of a smile at one corner – _Careful, Ella, keep it together, you're supposed to be angry, not a gushing fangirl. _"Did you not hear me the first time? I said—"

"I heard you." His voice cut me off, smooth and tender, almost teasing. This time he for sure smiled, but in a haunting, almost hungry sort of way. "I am simply ignoring you."

I scowled, hiding my blush with the creases in my cheeks. "You'll regret this; you _need_ me on the field."

He shook his head, an amused chuckle rising from behind his Adams apple. "You are a reckless, criminally accused, hormonal teenage girl who has no sense to follow orders. You, Miss Ella, are more of a liability than an asset, at least in public."

"Hormonal—?" My outrage was immediately silenced when L placed his thumb over my lips.

For a brief moment I saw his eyes, half-lidded and surreal. My expression softened, transfixed, almost hypnotized, by his gaze. "Keep your voice down." He ordered.

_L's…thumb…on-MY-LIPS? IthinkIamgoingtofaint. _Before I could remove myself from fangirl bliss, L slipped from the bed. It might have been my imagination, but I thought his thumb lingered along my bottom lip for a _little _longer than necessary.

"I will be back in a few hours, Miss Ella. Oh," he paused at the door, keeping his head turned so I couldn't see his face, "if you try to escape again, I will be forced to use more _radical _measures to ensure your cooperation."

I swallowed nervously, then came to my senses. "L! L! You can't leave me like this!" I slumped into the sheets as the door shut with a soft _click_. Already I could feel the blood draining from my arms, which were handcuffed over my head around the bed post. _What-the-hell? This is total bullshit! Since when does L talk like that? He's SO out of character! What if I escape this anime-mana/hell and write of my adventures? No one will believe this crap!_

(AN: Satchelle: He's not out of character… T_T)

I fumed quietly to myself. _He's just toying with me, acting all sexy, the bastard. _I started wriggling my wrists inside the cuffs. _Probably some stupid private eye mind-trick. Well if he thinks I'm going to be a good little fangirl and follow his every wish, he's got another thing coming._ _Nobody seduces Ella Krispy, not even the great and powerful L!_

Confused yet? (Oh come on, you know you like it)

If you're still reading this than you're more than likely mystified, considering we left off with me falling through a trans-dimensional rabbit hole after an otherworldly experience with a comically short Shinigami named Scab and an aloof pawn shop owner claiming to be a 'gatekeeper' (whatever that is). I suppose I _did _get a little ahead of myself. But you can see WHY I was over eager to tell you about it, right? Did you READ that? L, bed, handcuffs — are you not entertained? Ahem. Let me explain how I got into the awkward situation of being handcuffed to a bed by the elusive detective in the first place. (But be warned, it MIGHT take a few chapters).

It all started with a tennis match…

**After Falling Through the Previously Mentioned Trans-dimensional Rabbit Hole**

I opened my eyes.

A suffocating mound of small, fuzzy green globes surrounded my body, pressing against my skin like prickly burs. _Is this another one of Scab's tricks?_ Not being able to shake the feeling that the mysterious spheres were suffocating me, I started to panic. I squirmed, wriggling my arms and legs frantically.

"HEY! What are you doing in there?"

_Huh?_

Suddenly, white light streamed through the cracks in between the orbs. A strong hand gripped the collar of my shirt and I felt myself being lifted from the heap of palm-sized spheres and out into the light.

I blinked like a new-born colt and rubbed the corners of my eyes, dumbfounded into silence. I had expected some more voodoo-ish hocus pocus after my visit to another planet. Perhaps a Scary Movie setting (you know, like a stalk of marijuana trying to strangle me or Michael Jackson running around a corn field). I deserved at _least_ a talking Abraham Lincoln on my shoulder for crying out loud!

So, after imagining all this, you can see why I was a little disappointed to see the inside of an ordinary shack. Sports equipment lined the walls in stacks: rackets hung loosely from plastic hooks, a set of mats leaned against the corner (wiped clean with some sort of disinfectant) next to a withered broom and bins towering to the ceiling. Cobwebs lay undisturbed in the far reaches of the roof, unseen behind the hanging lights (if you studied the roof closer, you would notice a tiny bat had its leathery wings wrapped tightly around its furry body, sleeping soundly under a rafter).

"Are you going to answer me, kid?"

My focus changed to the man holding me by my collar, dragging me out from inside one of the bins. I took a glance inside before the lid fell shut. _Those miniature globes . . . were they . . . tennis balls? _My feet dangled in midair before the man plopped me down in front of him. He was wearing a blue baseball cap and a light green golf shirt, a ring of keys jingled from his belt. He stroked his beard thoughtfully (it looked like it could hide the state of Road Island in there). "This isn't the kind of place to be playing hide-and-seek, little missy."

_Why do people keep referring to me like I'm an eight year old? _"Er . . . of course! That's exactly what I was doing in here, heh, just playing a game!" I laughed nervously, trying very hard not to look like I had just fallen through a portal of the time space continuum (or whatever Jerry had said) and landed in a musty sport's shack.

The man eyed me with an apprehensive expression for a moment before motioning his thumb over his shoulder. "Well, you better run along. Don't want to be missing the big game."

I had taken a step past the game's keeper, practically tasting the scent of freedom on the tip of my tongue when a thought struck me like lightning. _Could it be . . . ? _I slowly turned my shoulders to face the man once again, lips parted in a slight 'O' shape as I looked at him inquisitively. "What game?"

**An Unknown but Likely Short Amount of Time Later**

You're not going to believe this (since everything else I've written is just SO believable in the first place, right?) I made it back to anime 'earth' just in time for a tennis match, but not just any tennis match. THE tennis match. As a dedicated aficionado of Death Note, this was a scene I couldn't afford to miss. _One small step for fan, one giant leap for fankind. _

There was only one teensy weensy problem.

My face had recently been plastered across every trashy news station in Japan, labelling me as an escaped convict who was armed and dangerous. This could result in a potential mob waving their pitchforks and torches in the air as they chased me across town. Not willing to go through that _twice _(I'll tell you later), I decided to conceal myself with a clever outfit.

Having nothing but a sport's equipment shack at my disposal, my elaborate and clever disguise consisted of: ONE yellow jersey that clung to my body like fly-paper, ONE pair of orange-tinted safety goggles and ONE (slightly sweaty) headband. _Best-disguise-ever. I'll blend in like a lap-top wielding author at Starbucks._

I moseyed down the sidewalk and around the corner. I passed several boring faculty buildings, some decorative shrubbery and a few love struck university students who were making out on nearby benches. Whenever someone passed me I'd point at them, exaggerate a wink and say "That was some party last night, bra!"

This new episode through my journey inside Death Note served as an excellent distraction. I was able to put my adventures between worlds to a rest for a moment, allowing my brain to sort through the craziness while I enjoyed a front row seat to the match of the year.

The tennis court was easy to spot because a crowd of awed students had already formed there. I gently shoved past them and stumbled my way into the front row. Immediately, I threw myself against the chain-linked fence and clutched the cold metal with my fingers. The two young men standing on either side of the court were staring each other down. Sweat lined their foreheads and the fabric of their clothes ruffled ominously as a breeze trailed across the campus.

The majority of the students standing behind me were staring openly at Light, cooing over his perfect hair and family status. As some of you may have predicted, my eyes immediately indulged themselves with L. His lack of exposure to sunlight was obvious, but he took it in stride. The chalk-white color of his skin only accented the darkness of his hair, looking like the windswept feathers of a mysterious raven (or a half crazed crow, depending on your point of view).

At first, L's attention was focused on nothing but studying Light Yagami's every move. His eyes eventually trailed in my direction (probably because I was jumping up and down like a giddy schoolgirl) and needless to say, my 'disguise' didn't deceive him for a second. The first thought that crossed L's mind (which is an inaccuracy, since L can think several things at once) was one of surprise. He was surprised because, from his perspective, I had vanished into thin air more than a day ago (since he couldn't have possibly deduced I had been kidnapped by a midget death god). L had projected the probability of me returning of my own free will and had determined it be in the lower percent range. Only someone extremely foolish would come back to a police-oriented team after being suspected of several crimes, especially after pulling off a disappearing trick that could rival Houdini.

L gazed at me tediously. He was vaguely deciphering why I was wearing such a ridiculous outfit at the back of his mind.

Light raised his racket high above his head, tossed the ball into the air and—

"Time out," L said, striding firmly in my direction.

Light allowed the ball to drop and bounce across the ground, catching his breath as he watched L with discreet intrigue (and a side of hatred). I entered Light's line of sight as L neared the fence and his eyebrows skewered downwards harshly as he tried to make sense of who I was, where he had seen me before and why L was heading in my direction.

L's enormous head of hair blocked out the sun and cast a slight shadow over me. I looked up, my eyes squinting as I smiled. "Do I know you, sir?"

"Your outlandish costume isn't fooling anyone, Miss Krispy."

"Admit it, you're happy to see me."

It almost looked as though I had caught L off guard, but the pause in between his statements was so small that it was probably nothing. "You were under strict confinement."

"Don't you know you can't cage a lion?" I _tisk-tisked_ in mocking disapproval. "Besides, I thought I was a _welcomed _addition to your investigative team?"

L didn't lose a beat. "How did you escape?"

I wagged my finger at him. "A magician is never supposed to reveal her secrets."

L eyed me impatiently, his thoughts stirring. "Where did you go?"

I scratched the back of my head. "I had this sudden craving for a falafel."

L tapped his racket against his ankle repetitively. "There was only one window in that room, are you saying you climbed down seventeen stories for a falafel, Miss Krispy?"

"Have you ever _had _a falafel?"

It looked like L had had enough of our witty banter. "My apologies, Miss Krispy, I had hoped it wouldn't come to this," he motioned airily with two fingers in the direction of a man covered up almost entirely from head to toe. "Tell me the truth or face the consequences."

L might be a master at indifference, but I couldn't shake this feeling at the back of my mind that he was mad at me. I'm sure he must have felt a strong urge to stuff the nodes of a lie detector into my eyes and drag the truth from my very skin. I know I would have. The corner of my lip pinched tightly, this situation felt similar to one of being scolded by a parent.

The last thing I wanted was for L to dislike me but . . . there was little I could do to ease his mind. If I _did_ tell him the truth (which he wouldn't believe anyway) it would only serve to buy me a one-way ticket into the bad books with the other shinigami. I could trust Jerry's protection about as far as I could throw him, then again, I wasn't sure I knew _who _he was anymore.

So I said nothing.

Watari now stood beside me, silent as a church mouse. He was wearing a long coat with big pockets, a wide hat that covered his face in shadow and brown leather gloves. I hadn't noticed him until he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Sir?" He asked, looking at L.

"Apprehend Miss Krispy and return her to her hotel room, please," with barely a glance back at me, L headed for centre court. He raised his racket lazily to show that he was ready to continue.

Watari guided me smoothly away from the game.

"Is he always that temperamental?" I asked, looking over my shoulder as Light dove for the ball.

Beneath the rim of his hat, Watari looked down at me incredulously. From what he could see, his young prodigy had maintained perfect composure. How had Miss Ella realized so easily that his charge was upset? "You noticed, then?" Although Watari's identity was hidden beneath his concealing outfit, his voice gave away his old age.

I rubbed my arm, looking at the ground glumly. "Was I not supposed to?"

_That's quite the exceptional talent. _ "You seem to have a..._special _way of drawing out his emotions. Normally he is very calculated.'' Watari scratched his mustache. ''Think of it this way, madam. You know many things the young master does not, and there is nothing he can do to draw this information from you," Watari paused, "you have him completely at your mercy."

"I thought it was the other way around, considering you're 'apprehending' me and all," I quoted sarcastically. _At my mercy…I like the sound of that._

Watari thought about it. "You know, ma'am. Ryuzaki did not tell me _when _I had to return you to your room."

It took me a second to get where Watari was going with this. _No way! Who knew Watari could be so cool? _"So what you're saying is—that if I was to just slip out of sight . . ?" I let the question hang in the air.

Watari stuck his hands in his pockets, looked up at the clouds and whistled.

I pulled my goggles over my eyes. _Time to turn a certain detective's day upside down. _

**At the Steps In Front of the Tennis Court **

"Ok, ladies! You know the drill, right?"

_Instigate Operation Cheer Up L. _

The seven cheerleaders standing in formation on the front steps shook their white pompoms in the air and squealed excitedly. Their red outfits swooshed back and forth as they moved their hips, readying for the routine. The crowd that had formed around the court turned their heads to look over at the collected athletes (I swear a few guys' eyes turned into hearts).

I held up my bullhorn once again. "Who's the best guy in Tokyo?"

In unison, they swept their bodies around and flashed perfect smiles. "R-Y-U-G-A!" They contorted their bodies expertly to spell out each letter in proper English (I would have had them do Japanese, but I feared they'd break their backs). They continued their cheer (which I wrote by the way. It's genius, in case you were wondering) and I shouted out along with them, waving my giant foam finger with the term '#1' printed on the side. I'm sure you're wondering where I acquired a cheerleading squad (and a giant foam finger), but I think some things are just best left up to the imagination (wink).

_You can't tell me this doesn't put an amused smile on his face! _I kept shouting into the bullhorn as the ladies flipped their leader into the air and turned to look into the tennis court. Light had reassured himself that this group had mistaken this man claiming to be L for the teen idol, Hideki Ryuga. To keep up his act of normal college kid, he did allow himself to watch the girls for a few moments and plaster a laughing smile on his face. "Looks like you've got a fan club!" He called out in L's direction.

I smiled to myself, feeling proud. _They've got no idea how far this 'fan club' goes. _

"I am sure they have mistaken me for that pop star," L said, eyeing the girl with the bullhorn directing the scarcely-clad dancers, "you know, the famous one," his gaze switched to a man in a trench coat who was looking back at him with a small and humorous smile.

Light chuckled. "Do you think we should tell them?"

"No," L said simply, "I am sure they will give up and go home eventually."

L said the last part slightly louder than he normally would, making me turn around and scowl. As my arm fell limply to my side, the bullhorn smacked my leg and screeched piercingly.

_You're asking for it, L._

**On Top of a Large Scoreboard**

I waved my arms like one of those women you see guiding an airplane down the runway, signalling my new friend, the groundskeeper, who stood inside the operations cabin. I saw him standing behind a large glass window and lean over the controls console. He raised his cap to show he understood and twisted the activation key. I felt the entire scoreboard beneath me begin to buzz with life. I bowed my head to look at the screen upside down as orange lights flickered on the display.

I was only about two stories up, standing on the left corner of the giant scoreboard. A pigeon with a ring of purple-coloured feathers around its elongated neck fluttered into a sloppy landing beside me. I looked down my shoulder at it. "Hi, how's a going?" The bird jutted its head out and bobbed up and down, cooing in reply. I crossed my arms. "Hey, if you're going to be snooty then find your own Scoreboard." It flapped its wings hastily, inflating its chest and raising its head back. I harrumphed in response. "You're a few feathers short of a peacock to be making any threats, little fella."

It hopped off the ledge and sailed down towards the stands of a nearby empty field, probably in search of any leftover hot food that had been thrown on the ground.

The campus looked like one of those model train sets from up here, only without the train. I could see all the way to the fountain in centre square, where ant-like students were studying or eating lunch.

L and Light were battling to the death on the tennis court, sprinting back and forth at the speed of light with the ball nothing more than a blur as it whizzed over the net like a deadly/fuzzy bullet (WARNING: A case of severe exaggeration is going around, you can protect yourself by covering your ears, shutting your eyes and shouting "La, la la!" loudly)

I lowered myself into a sitting position and swung my legs back and forth.

Scrolling slowly across the screen in giant orange pixilated letters was "IS IT A BIRD? IS IT A PLANE? NO. IT'S RYUGA HIDEKI." The letters turned into a sassy heart, then burst into stars and fell out of sight. It repeated itself after that (I don't know about you, but personally I could watch it all day).

I allowed myself to be a mere spectator as once again, the two in the tennis court stopped to look up at the scoreboard.

Light was playing along, laughing it off and commenting on how persistent Ryuga's delusional fan club must be. In secret, Light was examining the possibility that this thought-to-be 'L' was trying to psyche him out to win the tennis match.

L studied the board in silence, wondering if Miss Ella was trying to distract him. He turned back to Light. "Match point."

After descending the score board and thanking the groundskeeper for being awesome, I quietly crept back to the bleachers and watched the final battle pan out. Behind me, two Toho students loudly argued over who was better boyfriend material.

"Look at that man!" One girl said, flipping her braid over her shoulder. "He's tall, handsome, intelligent, who wouldn't want him? That, and there's something else…something _dark_. It's so sexy."

"But the other is so _strange_." Her friend said dreamily.

"I agree, I think unique can be cute. And just think what our kids would look like with hair like that!" A third voice piped in.

"Like freaks." Concluded a fourth voice. "Yagami is obviously the better choice. He's a man who takes charge and knows what he wants from his career."

"Come on, Takeda, don't be like that. Besides, you're biased. You dated that Yagami guy."

The short haired, neat-looking girl named Takeda, huffed. "That is of no consequence. Men like Ryuga are obvious mental wrecks with no self-discipline or respect."

_Oh, no she didn't. _I jumped to my feet, stomping up to the girl's level. My eyes narrowed. I remembered Takeda from the anime, they called her 'Miss Todai'. Studious, ruthless and beautiful. I jabbed her in the chest. "Insult Ryuga like that _one _more time and I'll get Canadian on your ass."

Her face screwed into a very un-Todai-like expression. "How _dare _you, this is a private conversation—"

"Actually," said a girl, "we want to hear what she has to say."

A small crowd had formed creating two sides on the bleachers. Light Yagami diehards stood behind Takeda, L faithfuls grouped behind me.

"And what would you know about men? You look barely out of junior high." She said flatly and sniffed, tipping her perfect nose in the air as though she couldn't stand breathing on the same level as degenerates like myself. Her supporters voiced their agreement.

Steam came out of my ears and my shoulders raised as my fists tightened. I knew Takeda. She would eventually become a top notch reporter and follow Light to an untimely end, all because of her obsession with power. She would feel no sense of remorse for her actions or for the people he killed. She was just like Misa, no, worse. At least Misa was an idiot. Takeda was an educated woman who perfectly understood the evils she did (or will do).

In short, I was not fond of Miss Todai.

"Trust me, when it comes to choosing sides, I picked the winner." I stated confidently.

"Are you so sure? I'd take a look if I were you." Takeda pointed.

I whipped around. Both Light and L were looking exhausted, but L was slowing down, barely matching Light's speed and smash attacks. _Oh no. L's going to lose, just like in the anime. _I had hoped my meddling was enough to change the course of events, but perhaps fate had other plans in mind. _If I can't alter the outcome of a tennis match, how am I supposed to prevent something as significant as L's death? _I thought with a slight panicked tremor.

"Looks like you chose the wrong horse to bet on, little _girl_." Takeda said smoothly. "I knew that Ryuga was a loser."

I could almost hear my self-restraint snap.

Never, ever insult a girl's favourite anime character.

I don't actually remember tackling Takeda, but I have the scratches and bite marks on my face to prove it. The two groups of girls leapt for each other, spurring a dust cloud of fangirl drama as they kicked, smacked and pulled any hair in grabbing distance (kind of like Death Note chatting forums after midnight). Once fully engaged in my fight with Takeda (and _winning_), I was thrown from the turmoil. My back slammed through a metal gate and tumbled head over heels backwards.

I lay, spread eagled, on the ground, staring up at the sky. For some reason, the sun had been replaced with a pale white face surrounded by a halo of black hair…

"Oh. Hi, Ryuga."

Light trotted over, glancing every so often at the cat fight occurring on the bleachers. "Perhaps we should finish this game another time, Ryuga. I think the crowd is getting a little too…excited." As he looked, a bruising Takeda was shouting contemptuously at the brawl as she adjusted her shirt and hair. She stalked off, glaring out of the corner of her eye at Ella.

"Yes," Ryuga straightened (or as straight as L normally gets) and held out his hand, "a tie then?"

Light grasped his opponent's frail fingers. "For now," he smiled and glanced at Ella, who was brushing off her own scrapes and cuts. _I have seen this girl before, I am certain of it. _

"Light, would you like the venture for a cup of coffee with me?"

As Light and L worked out their coffee plans, I tried to sneak away, only to be caught by the shoulder by L. "Wow, just by looking at you I wouldn't have guessed you were thisstrong." I laughed, trying to tug away from L's cemented grip. Light had walked away and most of the crowd had dispersed (some to treat their wounds, others to post the 'Ultimate Cat Fight' on the internet.)

"Miss Ella, my patience is thinning."

"Hey, you should be thanking me. If I hadn't intervened, you would have lost the match."

"Yes, I would have, and lost it fairly." He steered me towards Watari, who was now opening the door to a very expensive looking car. I couldn't be sure, but the old man appeared to be laughing.

Fair? _Fair? It's Light who isn't being fair! He's playing with unimaginable godlike forces!_ _That's practically cheating. _"Why are you mad at _me_? I was just trying to help. Ow, Ryuga, you're hurting me."

His grip wasn't tight. It just happened to be on the same shoulder I…um…injured…back in my own world. It still had yet to heal, which was odd, I normally was a fast healer. I had to be with a step-uncle like mine.

He loosened his hold, but not enough to allow me to escape.

"Look, I don't see what the big deal is. It was just a tennis match. You'll have plenty of opportunity to a have my-muscles-are-bigger-than-your-muscles contest in the future." Actually_, _I didn't think it was 'just' a tennis match. That particular sporting event was a projection, a fortune, if you will. I secretly hoped that my interference with L's loss might be a foretelling of future events. _Please understand, L, I'm trying to save your life (you ungrateful git)._

L carefully pushed me into the car and slid in after me. Instantly he kicked off his shoes and started to pull his shirt over his head.

_L…half…naked…_My brain must have fizzed out of operation for a second because I could do nothing but stare. L was skinny, and I'm not going to sugarcoat that by saying he had strong-looking arms or sinewy muscles or shockingly ripped abs (not to say he _didn_'_t _possess those things...I'm just not going to talk about them). He was thin. Plain and simple. I probably could have lifted him with one hand (I _might_ be exaggerating).

When he started to take off his pants, my brain turned back on. "Woah! I don't know what kind of girl you think I am but—"

"Relax, Miss Ella. I must change into my regular clothing. These gym clothes give me an awful itch."

_Is he kidding?_ I turned around to face the opposite window, resisting the irresistible urge to peek and trying to calm my flaming cheeks. "Leather seats, nice." I said, patting the cushion. "I don't think I've ever been in this fancy a car before." (Legally, that is.)

He told Watari the address for the coffee shop and the car whirred to life.

"Miss Ella," L started as he buttoned a pair of wrinkly jeans. "I am beginning to ascertain the impression that you consider much of this to be a joke. I must correct that state of mind. Kira is very real as is his or her power to kill. This investigation is crucial to find and bring the one behind it to justice. For your own safety, you must stay with either myself or my associates."

I focused on staring out the window and rubbed my shoulder where his hand had gripped it.

L watched as my collar slipped from my shoulder and I tenderly massaged the skin. Shady light poured in from the tinted windows, highlighting my tangled hair that fell down my neck in twirls and knots. He pulled his shirt over his head, forcing my slender, illuminated image from his head. "That is a nasty bruise," he said without looking.

I quickly pulled my shirt back over my shoulder. "What, that? Just a bump. No big deal."

L did not reply. Instead, he asked the same question from earlier. "How did you escape your room?"

I kept my eyes trained on the passing street signs and scraggly looking trees that survive the daily smog. "What, your hidden cameras not tell you anything? I was supposed to be a team member, not under investigation."

"You must realize my interest. You yourself have said you have information concerning Kira and have displayed confidential knowledge without explanation (meaning his name). It was necessary to profile you properly and—"

"Be a pervert."

L closed his mouth. He pulled his legs up to his chest and began pushing buttons on the ceiling. None of them seemed to do anything, but he appeared captivated. Finally, he licked his dry lips and spoke. "If you would like," he said quietly and with great difficulty, as though it was physically painful, "I can remove the cameras from your living space."

"You _will _remove the cameras, all of them. And if I _ever _find one, you'll get the sorry end of my foot up your ass."

"How becoming of you."

"I'm a proper lady, aren't I?"

"The most dignified I have ever met."

I looked sideways at L, now fully clothed (admit it, you liked him better naked). Witty banter aside, L was thinking deeply about something. I didn't have to wait long to figure out what.

While fiddling with the button that opens and closes the sunroof, L told me his twist. "Of course, I would require compensation for removing the cameras."

_Ah. There it is. _"Like hell you do."

"You misunderstand. I would like you to answer a question of mine."

I knew it. I had been preparing for this moment for the last few days. I tried to look him straight in the eye, to convey my dedication, my absolute devotion. I wanted him to see my commitment (to him). I sucked in as much air as possible before starting my speech. "Look, L, I know my arrival was mysterious (downright unreal) and I'm a brand new character in this investigation. Believe me, I would _love _to tell you everything I know, but I can't and I won't (because the Shinigami King will declare war on me or something). If you don't like it, then too bad, because you're stuck with me. I won't abandon the Kira case (I won't abandon you)." I huffed quietly, my face red from having said my speech in a single breath.

"My question does not concern any of that."

I blinked. "Oh, well, ok. What is it then?" I asked, feeling sheepish.

L pressed his thumb to lip, his eyes wide. He perched on the edge of his toes, leaning forward. "What is your real name?"

"My real…" _Oh, oh I get it. _

Watari's blue eyes flicked back at us from beneath the rim of his hat in his rear view mirror. Watching and listening intently.

_L is asking me to trust him, in the same way that I am asking him to trust me by taking away the cameras. I suppose it's only fair, considering I know _his_ name._

I shifted nervously in my seat, glancing left and right and biting my lip. I felt as though, by telling him my real name, I would become bare in some way. Exposed. Vulnerable. I pulled my legs up onto the seat, sat on my knees and bent forward. He remained perfectly still, as though worrying I may be frightened away by the slightest movement, when I cupped my hand around his ear and whispered as quietly as I could. "Sydney, Sydney Pennypocket."

I sat back on my heals, smiling anxiously.

L mouthed the name to himself, relishing the phonetic tickle on his tongue. _Sydney Pennypocket. _L decided he liked that name.

I felt like a little kid sharing a secret inside a hidden clubhouse. It was a contract of sorts. To trust each other. It felt nice knowing there was someone in this strange, animated place that knew my name, as though confirming my existence, my life, my reality in my other world. It was like L held my anchor, keeping me from floating away, and I his. I grinned as the car slowly pulled up to the coffee shop. _L Lawliet. _I held his name close to my chest and closed my eyes.

L stepped out onto the sidewalk, not noticing the puddle he was standing in, he poked his head back in. "Stay in the car."

I saluted him and watched as the tiny bell rang over the shop door as his stooped figure sauntered inside. _"Stay in the car", yeah right._

_End of Chapter 13_

I KNOW! I'M A HORRIBLE HUMAN BEING WHO DOESN'T UPDATE. (But you love me, don't you? So it's okay tehe)

And I may or may not update the next chapter tomorrow, or in a week, or never. Truth is, I've been writing other things (I've betrayed fanfiction, I know). What are these other things, one might ask? Books. My books. Lots of books. Books that have not been finished and are begging me to write more. (Awesome books, by the way, I know you'd all like them, if it's not too smug to say). And if I ever DO finish them, I'll shamelessly advertise on this story and get you all to buy them ^_^. (Aren't I evil?). Anyways, I have continuously been receiving reviews and emails and am very very very grateful to YOU, the READERS! Pat yourselves on the back, you've done the impossible and convinced a retired fanfiction author to submit one more chapter.

~ Satchelle - who is currently suffering insomnia and instead of completing her projects, decided to update (which would explain any spelling/grammar/that sentence didn't make sense errors).

My love, my life, my mind, my soul for the ink.


	14. Sundaes and Sirens

**Chapter 14**

**Ella's POV**

I pulled the yellow jersey over my head, my pants rubbing against the leather seat as I wiggled out of the fabric. To keep myself occupied as I prepared for yet another daring encounter, I ran the tennis match from earlier play by play in my mind's eye. It's clear as a satellite image. Things that awesome just don't go away easily. I remember watching through my orange tinted goggles as L's lean body dashed from side to side. He made the movements appear effortless, planned, as though he were commanding a game of chess and was in control of all the pieces. The ball bounced from side to side, so fast it looked little more than a green streak as it smashed off their rackets. Light wasn't going to just lie down and die either. He matched L hit for hit, point for point. I now understood why L found such interest, such obsession, with Light – he was a challenge.

A challenge I couldn't afford to let triumph over my new detective friend. Light made many mistakes throughout the story, but so did L. If I was going to give L a chance at life, I'd have to shake things up. I needed to throw myself into every scenario, like the tennis match, and change them. If I messed around as much as possible, it might be enough to give L better odds. While I thought all this a very small, very dark voice at the back of my mind whispered outraged objections to my plan. The part of me that secretly liked Light, even his psycho-killer side. I shunned the voice as far back into the grungy recesses of my brain as I could – L was still my favourite of the pair.

I threw my orange goggles and sweatband to the floor. "Watari?"

The man tilted his head slightly, so that I could see the tip of his nose from beneath his disguise. "Yes, madam?"

"I need to use the restroom."

Watari's blue eyes shifted from side to side, hiding his wonderment. _Incredible, her Japanese is perfect. Everything sounds natural, as though she has been speaking it since childhood_. "Ryuzaki gave you direct orders to stay in the vehicle."

"Hey, maybe Ryuzaki has been too preoccupied with solving this investigation to notice, but I'm a _woman_, do I need to go into detail for you as to _why_ I need the facilities?"

"No, no," Watari said quickly. "Please, be swift." He unlocked the side door with a click.

I chuckled heartily to myself. Works every time. I used to use that trick whenever I wanted to get out of a lesson. It worked especially well with my male teachers, who always got flustered and, unable to say anything, hastily gestured me out of their class.

What I didn't know was that Watari had not only expected me to leave the car and follow L inside, he had counted on it. For at that moment, the cell phone in his pocket rang with a very important and very _secret_ call. It was one call of many that he would receive over the next few days, calls that would change my life in Death Note forever.

I entered the coffee shop (with zero intention of using the facilities) and a little bell rang, declaring my presence. It was a warmly lit place, smelled like carrot cake and was decorated with an abundance of fake green plants. A busty waitress guided me to a table (and after I insisted), sat me near the back. Throughout all this I made sure to keep my head down, just in case anyone recognized me from that news report that unjustly dubbed me as an armed and dangerous criminal (well, to be fair part of that is true). I hid behind a large, folded menu and listened intently. Just down the aisle sat L and Light, contemplating silently over scattered white papers. I peeked over my menu and strained my ears, but I could not hear a single thing they were saying.

_Looks like I'll have to get a bit more creative._

I surveyed the area and watched as the busty waitress disappeared through swinging double doors, a tray of dirty dishes in hand. Next to the door hung several uniforms, black with white aprons, identical to hers. A plan formed in my mind, a magnificently meddlesome plan, a plan that would require a talent that I execute best – thievery.

**One Stolen Uniform Later…**

"Good afternoon, I'll be your server this evening," my disguised self said cheerily and held out a couple of menus. "Would you like to hear our specials?"

The pictures L and Light had been discussing vanished into L's pocket so fast that I nearly missed it. He brushed his perched knees with the palms of his hands, as if trying to get a wrinkle in his jeans out. "I am already aware of your special," he scratched behind his ear. "I must say that the 'Smashing Sundae Supreme' sounds absolutely delightful," and looked up at me with big, doe-like eyes. "I think I will have one of those."

I nodded dutifully, not in response to his order, but to his answer. I had expected him to dismiss me, but instead I was now required to go inside the kitchen and continue my little charade. Thus, L was left alone with Light to discuss the Kira case, and I was forced into a situation where I had to think fast or get caught. That was smoothly done. _Well played, L._ This game was starting to be fun, especially when I had such a skilled opponent. _I'll have to congratulate him on his acting later._

"And for you, sir?" I asked, turning to Light.

Light acted relaxed by leaning back in his seat. "Just a coffee," he added.

"Certainly," I turned on my heel towards the kitchen, but not before winking flirtatiously at Light and swinging my hips as I travelled back towards the kitchen. The wink was more for L than Light, a maneuver to throw him off, or (hopefully) make him jealous – or both. I must admit, I was getting used to being a bother to L. It was fun.

Light stared as I turned the corner, not because of my blatant attractive qualities (there are too many to list), but because he was concerned about developing a reoccurring sensation of déjà vu. This girl had been popping up everywhere; the university, the tennis match, he had even seen her on TV. Was it a coincidence, or was this the same girl that had accidentally called his new "acquaintance" 'L' at the entrance ceremonies? She seemed to think calling herself 'Ella' had covered her mistake, but if she thought that would escape Light's noticed than she was a bigger moron than she let on. If so, she must have lied about not being able to speak Japanese. At the time he had waved it, but now… _I must not let anything out of the ordinary escape my sight. If it is the same girl, she is obviously connected to L. I should proceed cautiously._

"Thank you, Miss!" L called out, much like an innocent child might during his first restaurant experience. L's cheerful expression evaporated the moment I was out of sight.

"She was certainly friendly," Light said casually, eyeing L's reaction as he stretched his arms behind his head.

L folded his hands together and pressed his mouth against them. "Indeed," he muttered, thinking deeply. He knew something would have to be done about her recklessness, and Miss Ella…Sydney…was not going to like it.

The doors of the kitchen swung shut behind me, but did not allow me to relax from my current role as a waitress; there were still people about who I had to act natural enough around to fool. Luckily, I was in my element. I glided, untouched, as graceful as a swan, between counters and white-clothed employees.

Light steam drifted towards the ceiling, the smell of cooked vegetables floated though the air and kitchenware clanked softly as chefs went about their business. They didn't seem to notice me as I walked by and politely stated my order. The floor and walls were made of a clean-cut white tile, there was a monstrous stove in the centre of the room with a large vent that trailed up into the ceiling and small circular windows, like the ones you'd find in a ship, lined the back, pouring sunlight like water into the room.

"Hey, I haven't seen you here before."

I looked around, unsure of where the voice came from.

"Down here."

To my right stood…err…sat, a cream-faced boy donned in a similar black uniform. Oh, and he was in a wheelchair, if I hadn't made that clear. His dyed cherry-red hair shot off his head in a diagonal direction, as though he had been recently struck by a bolt of lightning. A silver ring stuck out from his bottom lip and it wiggled when he spoke.

"I'm the new girl." I crouched down on my heels.

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

I shrugged. "I figure you have to look up at people all the time, I thought it would be nice to have someone on your level."

He looked at me with an odd expression, and then held out his hand. "The name's Donovan." He looked me up and down. "You a foreign exchange student too?"

I replied with my name and shook his hand, surprised at how rough his skin felt. "Something like that."

"You're Japanese is very good."

For some reason, I found myself blushing at his compliment (even though I took no part in my freaky language abilities). _He's kind of cute…_

He closed one eye and squinted at me. "Are you…"

I sighed. _Here it comes._I opened my mouth, ready to clarify that I was not, in fact, American when—

"Canadian?"

I gaped at him. "Yes!" I burst out, "FINALLY, someone gets it! You, you, sir, are…" Gratitude swelled in my chest, I had to say something or I was going to explode from pure glee, "you're glorious!" I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

DING! _"Order for table 14, one sundae and a coffee."_

"Oops, gotta go."

Donovan held his hand to where I had kissed him. _Wow…_

I balanced the tray and practically skipped out of the kitchen (not before sprinkling pepper in Light's coffee, just a 'Hi there, I'm joining the game' sort of gesture). _Today is a good day. _I thought, giddy. I swerved for their table. "One Smashing Sundae Supreme and coffee, at your—." Before I could place it on the table, two ring tones interrupted me.

L and Light answered their phones at the same time.

"Excuse me," L said.

_Oh, I remember this…_

L's eyes, if it was possible, grew wider. "Light it's your—!"

The tray slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. Ice cream, chocolate sauce and peppered coffee sprayed onto my shoes (cleats I had taken from the sports' shack earlier). Porcelain exploded from the point of impact, like a tsunami of sharp, erratic blades. I felt one or two make contact with my leg, but I barely noticed.

L glanced at me sharply, silently communicating a direct order and I took off, running for the car. I pushed past a confused looking Donovan on my way out and shoulder-checked the front door. _Oh no. What have I done?_

Light looked up at L and they shared a moment of a complete, non verbal emotion – surprise and maybe…fear. Light was too shaken to pay any notice to my butterfingers accident. "My father, he…had a heart attack."

I had the good sense to jump into the front seat and slouch as low as possible before L quickly and efficiently guided Light into the back and told Watari to drive to the hospital. The ride, for the most part, was in silence. But everybody knew that everybody else was drowning in deep, dark thought. Light, worrying for his father, wondering if another Shinigami had stepped in to cause even more turmoil, if that was even possible. L, wondering if Light, as Kira, would kill his own father to prove his innocence. And me, mentally kicking myself. I had reacted _before _either had stated the situation. _Before _there was any reason to react. What would L think? How was I supposed to explain knowing that the Chief would experience a heart attack? _Would he believe me if I told him I was psychic? _Inside my own head, I screamed frustratingly. _Why am I so stupid? If I keep it up, he's going to start thinking I'M Kira._

We pulled up to the hospital just in time to see Light's father rushed into emergency care. Light, without a second thought, ran to his mother's side. She sobbed into his chest as he guided her to the entrance, kissing her hair and telling her that father would be alright. My heart went out to her. Of all the people who suffered in Death Note, it would be Light's mother who took the hardest hit. _Light doesn't deserve her._

L gradually, attentively, stepped out of the car and bent beside the passenger seat window, hands gouging holes in his pockets.

I watched him in the side mirror with furtive glances.

"I will speak with you later. There is much to discuss."

I sunk lower. It felt as though I was a little kid, waiting to be interrogated and ultimately grounded by a parent after being sent to the principal's office for some unspeakable, childish crime. Watari pulled out to find a parking space and I was graced with a visitor.

A sordid, revolting bag of bones popped into the side mirror. From my point of view it was as though his giant, yellow eyes were staring at me from the back seat. He held a finger to his cracked, bleeding lips and then slid his finger over his throat (or what would be his throat if he had the flesh to support one, so really he slid his finger over the exposed ridges in his spinal cord). I understood the message loud and clear. Jerry might have given me protection, but the rules stayed the same. I would have to keep my 'in-the-know' to myself or the Shinigami would make it their mission to search and destroy – ME.

My thoughts shifted to my trip through the gateway to no man's land. Once I studied what happened, I realized I had learned vital information. For one thing, I now know HOW I was sent here (Not necessary the scientific mumbo jumbo behind it, if it's scientific it all. I have a feeling Jerry dumbed it down for me). The WHY is still a mystery, no doubt Jerry will leave that up to me to figure out. I know that the Shinigami were hostile, considering that they had tried to kill me by influencing that investigator's gun (my ear is still sore). And I'll bet all my internal organs that my name is already in Scab's book. Most importantly, I know that this is _real_. People are really dying, Light is really evil, and L...

Well, L's still a smart ass.

Watari and my stroll back through the parking lot was respectful and distant. Red and orange light from the ambulances arriving and leaving the hospital flickered over our bodies, making our shadows dance back and forth. The man did not speak much, and I had nothing to say. He must have thought it pointless to tell me to stay in the car, because he did not send me away. He didn't seem angry about my ditching him either. Rather, he appeared almost in a state of lock down. I could sense questions burning the tip of his tongue, daring him to ask them out loud, but he was well trained. He kept his composure and barely acknowledged me, aside from holding the hospital's door open. I hadn't realized he had turned and walked back towards the car until I was half way to the front desk.

Hospitals, no matter what city, country, or dimension you were in, all smelled the same – like plastic, hand sanitizer, and the choking stench of death. Patients were hurriedly carted around, staff buzzed from one section to the next, shouting out and following orders. The whole place reminded me of a cold blue, or a warm grey.

Light and his mother had been lead to a private waiting room. L was precariously balanced in a wobbly chair, staring at a 'Signs That YOU Are Pregnant' brochure. I sat down one seat away from him, tucking my hands between my legs and biting my lip. "Chief Yagami will be fine, Ryuzaki." I said, then, looked over into the window to see Scab's lamp-light eyes. I glared back at him. "I'm sure of it." I added defiantly and mouthed cuss words in the vertically-challenged death god's direction. _Bring it on, midget. I'll plough you so deep into the earth that you'll grow a tree out of that thick skull. _

Scab shook with anger, but ignored him banging his tiny, clawed fists on the window and howling like a dog.

L flipped a page of his brochure between his forefinger's and thumb's nail tips. "I expect you are in a certain amount of danger," he said calmly, "to be so dedicated to catching Kira, but unable to speak of anything you know."

I didn't nod or shake my head, I simply stared at my feet, studying the crusty ice cream on my cleats. _At least he doesn't think I'm Kira, that's a plus._

L looked over at me, and then let his brochure fall to the floor. "Miss Ella, you are bleeding."

I lifted up my leg. "Oh, yeah, would you lookie there." _Good thing I'm wearing this waitress outfit, if it was a pair of pants rather than a skirt, they would be stained…that's a ridiculous thought. Why did I think that?_ I must have been injured when I dropped that tray, and hadn't noticed. "That's a lot of blood," I commented stupidly.

"I will contact the nurse," L raised his hand for the woman at the front desk, but I grabbed his wrist and yanked it down.

"No," I whispered through my teeth, "nurses ask _questions._" I released my grip. "Leave it to me, I'll take care of it."

L looked me straight in the eye, thumb hovering over his mouth, slightly ajar. His gaze had some power over me, like tethering me down to earth with invisible ropes, keeping me from escaping his sight. I stared right back, chin strong and proud. "I don't need anyone's help." A sudden forgotten pain shot up my leg from where it was cut with blinding white sears of heat. My lip trembled, but I locked his eyes with mine. "I don't _like_ nurses." My pitch rose in the middle and I clamped my mouth shut, afraid I might start screaming from the pain if I didn't.

L nodded and I burst out of the room and into the hallway in search of an unattended first aid cart.

At that moment, Watari strode through the doors and eclipsed L's hunched figure, like a cloaked, fatherly statue. "Ryuzaki, I know this is an inconvenient time, but primary results have returned from the lab." He held out a thin folder.

L accepted it and balanced the papers on his knee. His eyes scanned the pages and his thumb brushed the lines of ink, as though he could absorb the information through osmosis. His half-lidded eyes shot wide open. "You double-checked this?" He asked without looking up, re-reading and then re-re-reading the charts displayed on the document." His nose sunk closer to the paper, drawn in as though by gravity.

"Triple-checked it myself."

L looked towards the hallway that I had just ventured down. His lips parted to utter a word, a word that felt so heavy and so light at the same time that it made L's head spin. "Impossible."

I recovered some bandages from a deserted IC unit and sat on an empty, sterilized bed to wrap my wound. It was shallow, which was good, it would heal quickly. Unfortunately, it was long, so it took up a lot of bandage. I tucked what I had left in my pocket for when I would have to switch the bandages later and plodded back to the waiting room – this time with a noticeable limp.

I hadn't lied when I gave L my reasons for disliking nurses. Yes, in the past I owed them a lot, but not once, during my many visits to the hospital, did a single bother to inquire as to _why _I ended up in the ward so much. The truth was that they didn't care. Not a bit. They saw cases like me all the time and left us to rot. Just like the police. Too much fucking paperwork to call social services, I'm sure. Not that it would have mattered if they had, damn placement agency that stuck me with my drunken uncle hadn't bothered to check up on me since they had dropped me off there, so many years ago.

The investigation team had arrived by the time I got back. Aizawa was pacing, Mogi was cooling his nerve by flirting with the receptionist and Ukita was arguing with a male nurse about smoking regulations. Matsuda sat alone, anxiously twitching and repeatedly smoothing his suit.

"Fine!" The short officer shouted, plucking his cigar from his mouth. "I'll take it outside!" He pushed the frazzled male nurse out of the way and stormed out the front doors.

I, not wanting to confront the rest of the team and feeling L's eyes on me like a curious, watchful cat, hurried to follow him (as much as one can hurry with a gimp leg).

Ukita was standing by a parking post, hunched over and fuming (literally). "What do you want?" He asked gruffly, puffing out clouds of grey smoke. The tip of his cigar switched from a glowing red to yellow to orange with each inhale and exhale.

"Fresh air," I managed with a mangled voice, coughing and waving my hand in front of my face.

He took an angry sideways glace in my direction. "You owe me one SUV."

I looked up at the sky, dimming into a starry, violet pastel. "Yeah, sorry about that. At least it went out with style. Not many cars are brutalized by a falling angel."

He grunted in reply. Several moments of silence ensued, me content with surveying the heavens as more and more stars blinked into existence, him happy with smoking his cigar down to a stub. Ukita broke the quiet first. "So, what made you so special for Ryuzaki to take you under his wing?"

I shrugged. "Who knows what goes on in that weirdo's head?"

I smiled as Ukita chuckled. _I made him laugh. _

"You've got that right. Hey, you can speak Japanese now?"

I nodded, then proceeded with a long list of swear words to prove my savvy with the lingo, and that made him crack up even more. Sensing his style of humour, I began telling him all the dirty jokes I knew, laughing along with him.

He patted me on the back, sending new clouds of smoke into my face. "You're not all bad, kid."

"That's what I keep telling myself."

It was a nice moment.

Aizawa stomped outside. "Will you two stop giggling like school girls and show some respect?"

"Aizawa, come listen to this girl's joke. She was just telling me about this one with a super model, Charlie Sheen and Frank Sinatra who enter a bar and—"

"Enough already!" Aizawa marched over, casting away my joke with a swipe of his hand. "The Chief is in critical condition right now and you're telling bar jokes with _that girl_." He whispered that last part with a seething tone, as though it were an inside secret and not to be said too loudly.

Hearing Aizawa call me 'that _girl_' stung me. He was frowning in my direction, as though I was somehow involved with Chief Yagami's unfortunate condition and he hadn't the evidence to pin it on me yet. I let my eyes drop, feeling slightly ashamed. Not everyone reacted the same to tragedy, and it looked like Aizawa was about to snap.

"Isn't it a good thing, though?" I quipped quietly. "He's not dead, so doesn't that mean it wasn't Kira?"

"And what would you know?" Aizawa bellowed.

I took a step back, surprised by his ferocity.

Ukita walked between us. "Aizawa, calm down. We already discussed this."

"No! She's got a hand in this, she's _hiding _something, Ukita, can't you tell? What if she's Kira and is just toying with all of us? Here the Chief is, in the hospital, and all the while _she _is getting closer to Ryuzaki!"

Aizawa doesn't like me? No, worse, he _suspects_ me? I hid my eyes behind my hair, disguising the smarting tingle of tears. _Aizawa, I thought you were so cool..._

"Look what you did, Aizawa! You're making her cry!"

"It's just an act, you idiot! She's fooling all of us!"

"Ahem."

By that point, Ukita seemed to be holding Aizawa back. At the quiet interruption, Aizawa turned his head and shouted "What?" His enraged features quickly drained away. "Oh, it's you, Ryuzaki."

L had poked his head out the door. "The Chief is awake, he is accepting short visitations now." He returned inside the building.

Aizawa jerked his arm from Ukita and adjusted his suit as he stalked back inside.

"Don't listen to him," Ukita reassured, "he's not usually like that. There's just been some…"

"Debate," I mumbled, "about me."

Ukita shifted uncomfortably. "I'll see you upstairs." Before he walked through the door, he turned. "I don't believe what Aizawa has said about you, Miss Ella. Find it in your heart to forgive him, he is under a lot of stress. Oh, and don't worry about the SUV, I have insurance."

I nodded.

The sky was black now, the lot illuminated by yellow lanterns. A dragonfly zipped by my ear in search of the perfect flower to perch on for the night. I stuck my hands in my pockets and trudged inside, my leg twanging dully.

L was waiting for me.

I fell in step with me, behind the rest of the group, stealing looks at my gloomy expression. Finally, once we were far enough away from the others, he spoke his mind. "Are you alright?"

"Why should you care?"

L thought about it. "Well, I believe you are the key to solving this case...among other…_personal_…mysteries of mine."

_That's what thought. All you care about is your stupid investigation. It only matters if I get hurt if it harms your detective work._

I did not look at him, leaving L wondering what, if anything, had he said wrong.

"Why didn't you tell me the group was voicing doubts?"

"Because I did not know. I was unaware that any were concerned about my decision to invite you into this case."

_Of course you knew, how could you not? You're a detective! You read people like open blogs. _

"I did not know, no matter what you think."

_See, you just read my mind. Proved my point, you jerk._

One by one, the team members entered the room and sat next to Chief Yagami, swapping light-hearted small talk. I sat against the wall next to the door, loosely hugging my knees. I wasn't sure if it was the loss of blood, or all the excitement, but I felt incredibly tired.

_What happens next, I wonder? _

_End of Chapter 14_

Wow. You guys….you guys amaze me every time. I'm shocked. Seriously. I had forgotten how nice it is to read your comments. Self esteem before reading reviews – average. Self esteem after reading reviews – sky high. Dudes. Your opinions rock! You even gave me some great ideas! Oh, I love you guys. I was so happy that I popped out this chapter easy peasy. I hope you liked it. You're the reason I write, honestly. ^_^

~ Satchelle, you're faithful fan forever.

PS: Sorry if there are any mistakes, it's one in the morning again and I haven't the energy to edit three times. hahaha


	15. Code Blue

**Chapter 15**

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…

I slouched against the back of my chair, arms crossed, a bit of drool escaping the corner of my mouth. I stared at the clock.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…

Without realizing it I lifted my hand two inches to the left to scratch my elbow, my eyes were glazed over, my lips parted in dull awe as I watched the hands of the clock move around _agonizingly_ slowly. I wondered if it was possible to die from boredom, I certainly felt like a zombie right now.

The television raised in the corner of the room buzzed, white lines scratched the picture, making it fuzzy. The receptionist snapped her stapler again, then stamped her red or blue stamp, then repeated the action. Most of the people in the room had dark circles under their eyes, or worry lines, or pinched lips. All were falling asleep. Two blonde boys, who could have been twins if not for a difference in a blast of freckles on one's cheeks, raced around the room playing airplane.

_Do all hospitals make it their sole mission to replicate limbo with their waiting rooms? _

_Ugh. This is dreadful. Why would L tell me to sit in here? To torture me? Where are all the McDreamy doctors? Where's the action? _I turned over in my chair to stare drearily over the back rest at the television screen. The picture started to clear, showing a drama series based around an ER. _How creative, they play the channel with all the medical shows in a hospital. _I frowned. Someone, dressed from head to toe in a blue surgical outfit, looked oddly familiar. I sat up in my chair, peering closer at the screen. The person was in the middle of performing a kidney transplant. Other staff scurried around him. Then, he looked up at the camera and winked.

_Jerry!_

I leaped over the chair, bumping a few snoring people back into the waking world. I stood on tip toe, my nose tipped up to the screen. "Jerry," I hissed quietly through my teeth, "what are you doing in there?"

"Saving a few lives, little _Ella, _what are you doing out there?" His eyes held the same twinkle as always. I could see him smiling madly behind his mask as he started attaching the veins of the new kidney to the patient.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm waiting."

"For what, exactly?" Jerry, disguised as a surgeon, ordered for another clamp.

"Hey! I'm the one asking questions around here. Where do you get off transporting innocent teenagers through fictitious dimensions?"

"I wouldn't with just anyone, _you _are a special case."

"I don't want to be special!" I whispered, wanting to reach into the television and strangle the pawn shop owner.

"And that," Jerry said, reaching for a pair of scissors, "is what is so sad."

I blinked and my fingers slid from the screen to rest limply at my sides. _Sad? _

"My dear, we in this universe are tied to our own threads of fate. Unable to cut them or untether ourselves, we float through our lives on a designated route. Merely pawns in a cosmic game of chess. But then there are _some," _he paused to snap off a piece of tissue, "that can _see _these threads and can tangle them into a muddled, uncertain mess. These people have sparks glowing inside them, as hot and bright as stars. People like you and me, and your friend with the unkempt hair. We are _wild cards._"

_Unkempt hair? Does he mean L?_

"However, its looks as though your friend is determined to stick to his fate, as he thinks it best, unless you manage to throw him off course. And I'd hurry, if I were you. It'd be such a shame to lose him; people like that are dreadfully difficult to come by."

I shook my head. "I just want to go home."

"Do you? Consider it a field trip with a lot of hands-on _educational _value. Oops. Got to go, looks like Law and Order is next, we're ending this episode on a cliffhanger." He said cheerfully.

"Jerry, wait! You haven't answered any of my questions! What about the shinigami or the gateways or how I'm supposed to get home? Jerry!" I banged my fist on the screen. "JERRY!"

But Jerry was gone, replaced by a bubbly laundry detergent commercial. I hung my head, sighing. _What did he mean by all that? Sparks and threads? What a load of—_

"You know, standing so close to the screen can hurt your eyes." A voice, as sweet as sleigh bells, said behind me.

I turned around.

A wide eyed girl in a turtleneck smiled up at me. She balanced a cafeteria tray and a holder filled with coffee cups. She had to keep blowing her bangs out of her eyes and her ponytail bounced up and down as she moved. "I read that in the paper." She said kindly.

My mouth dropped open. "Sayu?"

The glitter in the girl's eyes seemed to fade slightly in confusion. "I'm sorry, do you know me?"

"Yes, I mean no! I mean, I know your brother. He talks about you all the time." I laughed nervously, patting her reassuringly on the shoulder. _It's not like I'm an otaku delinquent from an alternate world that reads about you in a manga series called Death Note or anything. Nope. Not at all._

Her vibrant attitude returned. "Oh! Do you go to To-Oh too? Wow, you seem really young for university."

"No, no, I'm still in…high school." I said slowly. "Yeah, I know Light from high school." I muttered out of the corner of my mouth, trying to mentally staple my lips shut before I lied myself into a deep, dark hole."

She giggled. "OH, were you a part of his _fan club?_ Don't worry, I won't tell him. It'll be our secret."

"Wait, it's not like that—"

Her eyes, if it were possible, grew wider. "Oh! Did you two date?" She giggled. "My brother never talks about his girlfriends. What's he like, is he a gentleman? Did you two kiss? Whoops, sorry, didn't mean to pry." Her laughter was cute and smooth, like brightly coloured silk.

_Kiss? _It felt as though the tale I was spinning had already started to unravel, or sunk into a smelly dye. _Kiss Light? _His cool gaze drifted into my mind. Light Yagami had to be one of the top ten bad asses in anime, surely. Well…maybe top twenty. And bad asses _can _be really hot…

"Ha! You're blushing, I knew it! This practically makes you family." She grabbed my elbow and began towing me down the hall.

_I am NOT blushing. Light is an animated character, who wants to make out with an anime boy? _A little voice at the back of my head told me that _I _was animated now too, so if I wanted to…NO! _And an EVIL, murderous anime boy to boot! (Though, the evil ones are always the most fun…) _What about L? Did I want to kiss L? My blush deepened. _No. Don't be silly. I'll only be here long enough until I can figure out how to get home._

"So you came to support Light? That's so thoughtful; he and my father seem so busy lately." Her voice shrunk to a disheartened whisper. "I try to stay out of trouble, but I'm always asking for their attention. I hope I hadn't contributed to father's stress—"

"Don't even think that, Sayu. Of all the people here, you're the most—" I stopped myself, "At least, from what Light has said, you're a good kid." _The most innocent. _I thought regretfully. Her and her mother, nothing but victims. I felt sick for even thinking of Light as potential boyfriend material, not after all the people he's hurt. _I have to force myself to think of this place as real. If I keep experiencing things as though I'm still huddled up in a blanket, on my fourth coffee and half way through the series, then I could end up dead. _

"I've got to make it personal." I mumbled under my breath.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

She glanced down. "You're limping, did you hurt your leg or something?"

"Yes, I bruised my ankle on a curb, I'm a bit clumsy. So, what do you like to do?" I asked, swiftly changing the subject. I lifted up the tray from her hands to lighten her load. "Light's told me about what an excellent student you are, but not much else."

She thanked me for my help with the tray, rubbing her sore arm. "Well, I'm into all sorts of music, but that Hideki Ryuga is so dreamy! And I play volleyball and soccer and I tried out tennis because Light used to compete but I didn't care for it…."

The next few twists and turns in the hallway consisted of Sayu telling me about her life. Her likes, her dislikes, the boy she was crushing on, how she's going to grow up to be a marine biologist (or a movie star, she hadn't decided yet), her friends and so on. From what she told me, it didn't look like Sayu's life was troubled from anything more than basic teenage-girl stuff. She led a rather normal, carefree life.

As I walked down the long stretch of sterilized hallway with her, I realized that I was extremely jealous of Sayu. She had friends, and a family who loved her and threw her birthday parties, and didn't have to worry about much but grades and growing up. For one envious moment, I wished I was like Sayu. _I don't want to be special. _

Jerry's voice popped up in my head. _"And that, my dear, is what is so sad."_

_What's wrong with wanting to be normal, to lead an ordinary life? _I thought sullenly.

"Here we are." Sayu said, holding open the door a private waiting room. I brought the tray in and Sayu set the coffee on a nightstand. Her mother rocked back and forth in a cushioned chair, knitting. She was an aged woman with short hair and a modest way of dressing. She wore no jewelry to speak of. Sayu skipped over to her mother and kissed her on the cheek. "I brought you a sandwich and some milk. Oh, and this is…I'm sorry, I don't believe I asked your name, how rude of me."

"Ella, Ella Krispy."

"This is Ella Krispy," she said promptly, then cupped her hand to her mouth and whispered, "one of Light's old girlfriends." She burst into another fit of giggles. "Ella helped me with carrying your lunch here."

"We're just pals now," I corrected quickly and brought the tray over to Mrs. Yagami. The first thing I noticed was how unabashedly exhausted the woman looked. _Caring for a family can take a toll on a person. _

She offered me a small, warm smile. "Lovely to meet you. Light never mentioned you before."

"We keep our relationship on the down low. You know, to avoid clashes with his…err…fan club."

"My goodness, Light has a fan club?" She waved her hand in front of her face, as though to deflect a warm breeze. "Well, he always was popular. Just like his father. They work so hard. They're such good boys, aren't they?"

I swallowed a big, painful bump in my throat and nodded slowly.

Sayu held out a cup of yogurt to her mother. "Please eat, mother. Father will be fine. The doctor said he just needs to rest."

I leaned against the doorway, resting my recently bullet-holed ear against the cold metal. My leg still panged now and again, but the cut seemed to be healing quickly, as though my cells could sense a wrong had been committed and were hell bent on fixing it as quickly as possible. I knew I should be excusing myself before something else happened that would force me into a lie, but I couldn't tear myself away from the scene. _It doesn't matter the outcome, either way Mrs. Yagami and Sayu will lose a member of their family, or both. _I felt almost responsible, knowing who and what was hurting this nice woman's family.

"Of course, of course," Mrs. Yagami said and reached for the spoon with shaking hands, "but it's this Kira he keeps talking about. I've never seen your father like this. It's as though he's possessed."

"Yes," a voice said behind me, "Kira is pure evil."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I felt an intense weight crash down on my shoulders, immeasurably black and dense and trying to squash me into the floor. _This aura…_I forced myself to look over my shoulder.

Standing over me, looking very much the part of a loving son and brother, was Light. "And one day Kira will be brought to justice."

"Oh, Light, you focus on school, not this case. Your father is handling it." His mother said.

"Uh, it was nice meeting you guys but I've got to—" I tried to slip away, but Light placed a hand on my shoulder. To anyone else, it would appear as a nice gesture, but he was gripping it so hard I thought his fingers might cut holes through my skin. My knees wobbled from the jarring pain. He had me.

"And who is this?" He asked.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—_

"Oh, Light, you can stop pretending. We know you and Ella used to date, you don't have to keep secrets from us." Sayu proceeded to dance around, singing 'Light and Ella sitting in a tree, K-I-S…'

_I'm so screwed. I'm dead. Worse than dead. _

Then Light did something unexpected. He laughed. "I suppose the jig is up." He said, defeated. "Ella, would you like to go get a cup of coffee with me?"

"Actually, Sayu already—" I started, pointing towards the coffee she had set down on the nightstand when Light's grip on my shoulder intensified.

"Uh, yes," I said through clenched teeth, "I would love to."

Light waved at his mother and sister and led me out into the hall. As the door closed, I took one last look at the pair. Sayu was kneeling at her mother's side as Mrs. Yagami sobbed into her hands. "Such good boys…" she said through her tears. I looked away.

Light didn't say anything as he guided me down the hallway. Only, his grip fluctuated, as though he was undecided as to whether or not ripping my collarbone from my body was a good idea. We took a sharp turn and he pushed me into a shadowy subsection, somewhere without electricity…or witnesses. He opened a door and I squinted. It was too dark to see inside. I took a step back. "Now hold on," but Light was like an immovable force, stronger and sturdier than a fleet of tanks, and before I knew it I found myself stumbling inside the room.

A dim white light flicked on. We were in a viewing room. It was a small, rectangular space with chairs and desks and left-behind pencils. One wall was entirely made of glass, looking down onto an operating table in a room below. The light came from a small lamp lit just above the table in the other room, leaving most of the space I was standing in swallowed by shadows.

I watched as my last sliver of freedom closed behind the most wanted man in the world, and locked shut. There was no escape now, unless I wanted to throw myself through a plate of glass, which was an extremely undesirable option. I put as much distance as possible between myself and Light, at the moment he appeared calm and collected, but I knew Light could change his demeanor without the slightest warning.

"I think we should begin," he started as he took leisurely steps in my direction, "with why you're following me."

"I'm not—"

"The To-Oh entrance ceremonies, the tennis courts, the coffee shop, now here." He listed each one on his fingers.

"But—"

"Or perhaps as to why you've lied to my mother and sister, who for some reason seem to be under the impression that we have had some sort of past _relationship._" He picked up a pencil and began twirling it in his hand. "Are you a stalker?"

"No, but—"

"You seem too young to be with any government organization, though it can't be ruled out." The pencil spun faster and faster and Light was even closer. "Are you an American spy?"

"Canadian." I mumbled. "And no." I found myself backing away, towards the glass panel. Light acting so composed was freaking me out. It was as though he was a giant and I was a fly, and he could swat me down without batting an eyelid. _He doesn't know I know he's Kira. _I kept telling myself. _All he knows is that I lie a lot and happen upon him from time to time. He's got nothing on me._ Now he was only a few steps away.

"Then maybe you should tell me why you look like that girl on television, the one involved with a recent murder. Maybe I should hand you over to the police right now."

My blood ran cold. "I didn't murder anyone." My lip trembled, but I kept my chin strong. Time to take a chance. "But you have."

The pencil stopped twirling and the room fell into a dangerous silence. I could feel his emotions writhing beneath his composed exterior, like the stormy waves of a violent ocean. The white light from the room below flickered and shadows darted over his eyes, making them flash red.

"Is that so?" He asked.

I took a bold step forward, stomping my foot on the floor as though to stake my claim. "Yes! Light Yagami, or should I call you K—"

Before I could utter the deadly name, Light made his move. The pencil in his hand was crushed to splinters. Faster than a poisonous viper, he covered my mouth and slammed me against the glass panel. My eyes widened and I tried to move, but Light was strong. Stronger than I ever expected. _This is not good. Light's supposed to laugh, or act offended, like he did when L accused him. Why is he breaking his so carefully constructed persona now? Am I really that good at pushing people's buttons? He must know...somehow, he must sense that he can't win me over or trick me. Like he did Naomi or Ray Penber or even L. If that's the case…there's nothing stopping him from..._

Light's eyes were narrow and full of red sparks. Beneath his gaze I felt very, very small, and soon my squirming stopped. He made me feel like I was just another pawn in his game, as though this was all going according to plan. My eyes were wide and my body shook uncontrollably, I wished I could melt through the glass behind me.

"You're afraid." He said, and a deep, sinister chuckle rose from his chest. "You should be." His forearm pressed harder against my chest, I found myself struggling for air. His breath drifted over my face, warm and toxic. "Tell me your real name." He whispered, his voice soft and inviting. "Just your name, and this will stop." The room started to spin. "I promise it will stop."

My eyelids fluttered.

He pressed harder and my ribcage groaned from the strain. "You're name!" He demanded, his voice more forceful.

"S…" I was falling, spinning and tumbling head over heels. _Just tell him your name…tell him and it'll stop._ "Sydney…"

"That's it," he said in my ear, his cheek pressed against mine. "Go on."

"Penny…Pennypocket…"

Light's grip loosened, "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Black began to appear around the edges of my vision. Only a little while ago had I told L my name. L, someone who would never betray me. Now I had told Light, and he would kill me. _It's over…it's—NO! _In a shot of adrenaline, my eyes flashed open. I swung my body with all my might and kneed Light right between the legs.

He cried out and let go of me, hunched over in pain.

I took a gasping breath and stumbled forward, falling over a desk and crashing to the floor. I rolled over on my back, staring at the ceiling. The black began to recede and my chest felt as though it was on fire. I forced myself to my feet and ran, still disoriented, for the door. Light got there first. I tried to push past him but my strength hadn't returned, he knocked me over like a rag doll and pinned me to the ground. "I'm going to enjoy this." He growled, and I saw him slip a piece of paper from his sleeve.

I tried to call for help, and Light did the only thing he could do to silence me, what with his hands full. His lips collided with mine and pressed down so hard that I was unable to make any noise aside from a small muffle. I tried to move but was held down by his shoulder and his hip. His arms reached above my head and the graphite nub from the pencil he had broken scratched across the paper.

My body went limp beneath his. There was no point now. I was dead. _Well, now I know what it's like to kiss an anime boy—lethal. _His mouth was wet and warm and, I was loathe to admit, skilled. Obviously I was not the first person Light had locked lips with (not to say I was any less disgusted, the act still made me want to vomit).

Light, sensing my defeat, raised his head. His smile was cold but his eyes were ablaze, he grabbed my chin, as though to examine an unusual specimen. "It's almost a crime to kill someone as interesting as yourself. I would have loved to interrogate you further, but I won't take the risk."He threw my head back down and stood up. All I could see is the broken bits of pencil on the floor, rolling back and forth. "I know you're connected to L. Whether that _freak_ is the real thing or not doesn't matter, he and anyone who stands in my way will die. There is a new world order to be had. Unfortunately, you won't be around to see it."

And he left, whistling, as though we had been talking about the weather and he hadn't just signed my death certificate.

Left me to die, alone, and in the dark.

What did I have? Thirty, twenty seconds left? My heart beat sounded louder than it ever had, ticks in a quickly winding down clock. My time was almost up. I staggered to my feet and fell out of the room, holding the walls of the hallway for support. I knocked over nurses and supply carts as I went.

_Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…._

I looked left and right. Fifteen seconds? Less? And I saw him, L, standing next to a row of vending machines. Members of the task force surrounded him, they were discussing something with hushed voices. His hair was messier than usual and his eyes bright with intrigue. His thumb brushed across his bottom lip…

I raced, running against my beating heart.

_Tick, tick, tick, tick…._

I saw him look my way, saw the concern cross his face, saw him take a step towards me. I fell before reaching him, but somehow he managed to catch me anyway. I collapsed into his arms and he fell against the vending machines. I gripped his shirt, shaking. _I'm sorry, L. I'm so sorry, I won't be here to help you. _

"Miss Ella, what's wrong? Ella?" His voice was so reassuring, so comforting. I burrowed my face in his chest.

Five seconds.

"Ella…" His voice was fading away.

_Tick, tick, tick…_

_Tick…._

BA-DUMP.

It felt as though my heart had burst open, stabs of pain jumped up and down my body. My ribs were going to cave in, I was sure of it.

BA-DUMP.

I gripped my chest, unable to find any air to breath. I heard L call for a doctor, saw the task force run for help, but it was as though I was seeing them from a third perspective. By now Light had run over, asking if there was anything he could do. The last thing I saw was L, cradling my head in his lap, saying my name over and over, but he wasn't saying Ella.

"_Sydney, Sydney, Sydney…"_

Ba…

The world went dark.

_End of Chapter 15. _

Did NOT expect that to happen, and I'm writing it! I couldn't help myself, the words just came. This chapter took a little longer, but it needed extra love. That, and I had exams, (which I faked my way through). SCHOOL IS FINALLY OVER! At least there's a perk to no homework and a crummy, ten hour a week job – lots of time to write. Anyways, lemme know what you think. ;)

~ Satchelle


	16. The Stranger

I HAD planned to wait, but I just couldn't. (THE SUSPENSE! D:) This might mean you guys waiting a little longer for chapter 17, but here's 16. I hope you like it! :)

~Satchelle

**Chapter 16**

My eyes shot open.

_Where am I? _I stood on reddish dirt, strangled weeds poked through the cracks in the earth. Around me a swirling dust storm raged, circling me like a tornado. Voices raged inside the storm, too far away or too muffled to hear. Above the cyclone bright sunlight shone, an unreachable serenity. A few yards away sat Jerry, relaxing in a lawn chair, decked with sunglasses and a coconut drink (with an extremely feminine pink umbrella in it).

"Where am I now?" I found that the waitress uniform was gone and I was wearing a flowery tourist shirt and kaki shorts, identical to Jerry's.

Jerry took a sip from his drink. "You're dead."

"WHAT?"

"Just kidding." He hopped out of his chair and tipped his sunglasses to look at me. "This place is called the Nether. It's another one of those abandoned worlds I told you about earlier, where lost souls go."

"So those voices…"

"Are real people, or were. Now they're only memory." He spun around, arms thrown wide open and head tilted back to the sky. "It's fantastic, isn't it?" He shouted, his voice echoing around and around, as though his words were caught in the dust storm too.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"I didn't, you came here on your own."

I sat down on his chair and held my head in my hands, ruffling my hair. "I don't understand," I groaned, frustrated.

"I _told _you, you have the power to walk between worlds. This place is ideal because you can travel here with only your mind. To put it simply, you couldn't handle the stress and needed a vacation."

"Does that mean I'm still in Death Note?"

"Well, your body is, and it's in rough shape at the moment."

"But I didn't _want _to come here!" I shouted, jumping to my feet. "I _want _to go home! Why can't I send myself _there _instead?" The vortex started to shift colours, as though sensing my distress, changing from grey to brown to rust. It grew more violent and I could feel stray bits of wind bash against me, taking my hair and making it dance in the air, like seaweed in water.

"Calm down, you're upsetting the spirits." Jerry took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his pocket. "Listen, I lied, you _are _sort of, just a little bit…dead."

"WHAT?"

"I said calm down!" He glanced at the walls of the twister worriedly. "We don't have much time. At the moment, you can'tdie, well, you can't die _permanently_. Haven't you noticed how quickly you heal?"

I nodded.

"You see, you're not a _being _of that world, therefore you cannot die in it. It's as though you're suspended through distilled water, except instead of water it's a world. As long as you're there nothing about you will change. You won't age, you're hair won't grow and your body will always correct itself back to its original state, even if you've been injured. Ah, how do I explain this?" He scratched his head, then snapped his fingers. "That shoulder," he pointed at the bruise on my shoulder, "will always be bruised, because time means nothing. Me? I'm old. REALLY old. But I don't look old because I've been hopping between worlds for so long. To die, you have to be in your own world. However, there _is _a loop hole to that, and not a lot of people know it.

"I don't understand any of that!"

Jerry ignored me. "There is a way for you to die, it's the ultimate sacrifice. If you throw away your traveler status and decide to become a permanent character in that world, which has happened. The Librarian chose to stay in Arabian Nights because of a woman, from what I hear they're living very happily by the sea." He said as an afterthought. "It's extremely important that you know this. One day, you might have to make a choice, and it could mean the end of you, and even the end of that universe."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It will, trust me."

My eyes narrowed. "What do you know, Jerry? What aren't you telling me? Have you seen this play out already? Do you know what happens?"

"I'm bound by my own rules, Sydney, I can't tell you."

I crossed my arms and huffed. "So you're saying, even if Light or Scab wrote my name in their death notes, I won't die?"

"Yes, but—"

"But isn't that cheating? I can get away with anything! I could get hit by a bus and I'd still recover! That's not fair at all."

"Why are you protesting? It's to your gain. Now listen," he spoke quietly, kindly, "in a minute you'll be back in Death Note. But there's something you need to know."

I could see him moving his lips, but the roaring of the sandstorm rushed into our peaceful circle. Golden clouds of sand and wind cut through Jerry and I couldn't hear anything he said. "Wait, Jerry, I didn't catch that! Jerry!" I squinted past my eyelashes and felt the wind lifting me off the ground. The voices swirled around me, touching my ears then disappearing just as fast. But there were other sounds. Sounds that men and women and children and beast made with their very last breath. Most were sighs, but some were screams, and some sounded…

Familiar.

Two shadows drifted in a circle around me, sadness emanated from them like a smell. They were crying. I knew they were trying to tell me something, but I couldn't hear them. I reached out with my hand into the raging storm and whispered, my voice shaking, as if by saying the words out loud might scare them away. "Mom? Dad?"

I struggled, trying to reach their voices. "Mom! Dad! Come back! Wait for me!" But I was spinning, spinning, spinning….

**World of Death Note**

BA-DUMP!

OW! _Why is an elephant sitting on my chest?_

No, not an elephant. It was L, pumping up and down, his fingers locked together. My first swallow of air was the sweetest, most incredible thing I'd ever tasted. L stopped his compressions and sat back, exhausted and sweaty. His eyes trailed over my body, making sure I was alright. "Full diagnosis, Doctor, every test you have, immediately."

The man he was speaking to was elderly with chiseled features and a salt and pepper colour to his hair. He was holding a portable defibrillator, and looked completely shocked (no pun intended) that he hadn't needed to use it. "Sir, with all do respect she might relapse. We need to take her to IC right aw—"

L did not look away from my face. "This may very well be the only human alive to have survived a Kira attack; the most important thing at the moment is to find out why."

The doctor, and everyone else who were standing in a circle around me, were taken aback. Matsuda was the first to speak. "But, Ryuzaki, there is no evidence that Kira targeted—"

"I have all the evidence I need, please overlook the fact that I have not shared these reasons with you." L was very hushed, obviously his thoughts were somewhere else.

The doctor helped me sit up, and that's when I realized my shirt had been ripped open in preparation for the defibrillator. My face turned redder than a tomato. Matsuda gently offered me his jacket and I wrapped it around myself, unable to look anyone in the eye.

"This is amazing," the doctor said, "I've never seen anyone recover this way after cardiac arrest, she shouldn't be able to move let alone be wide awake!"

"Yeah," I mumbled, "I'm pretty amazing." _I feel sleepy…_

"Extremely." L agreed.

I looked at him drearily. 'Thank you,' I mouthed silently. _Thank you for trying to save my life. _

With the doctor's help, I shakily got to my feet. And there, standing just behind the task force, was Light. His face was a mixture of emotions, a hot pot of disbelief, anger and solidified determination. Looks like I've made my first true enemy. _Bring it on, Light. I fucking dare you._ When our eyes met, my first instinct was to tackle him to the floor. And I tried, but I felt my heart start to quicken and my legs give out. _The second I get my strength back I'm feeding that jerk a knuckle sandwich, with extra loose teeth and black eyes. _"I dare you," I mumbled, incoherent to most, but perfectly understandable for Light. He received my message, loud and clear. This meant war. The doctor supported me as he led me down the hall and L looked at Light, then at me. His expression darkened.

"Those tests, Doctor?" L asked, staring at Light.

"Yes, yes, all in good time, sir."

**After being hooked up to a lot of machines and put through a series of what I would call highly unnecessary medical exams…**

The hospital room was cool and quiet. A monitor beeped and a green line rose and fell across the screen. Numbers that I didn't understand shifted up, then down, then back up. The bed I was in was uncomfortable and stiff, with very thin and clean sheets that dried out my skin. There was a potted plant and a painting of a girl in a swing, but other than that the room was bare. Did I mention the paper dress? I am officially putting paper dresses on my THINGS I STRONGLY DISLIKE list, between mysterious rashes and centipedes – they ride up you like no tomorrow.

"L, stop staring," I said for the hundredth time, "it's creeping me out."

L sat in his unusual way in a chair across from the foot of my bed. It looked as though he'd been biting the nail on his thumb. Something was on his mind, but he had yet to tell me what. "My apologies," he replied, the same reply he'd been giving me for an hour.

I closed my eyes. "I want out of here, why won't they let me leave?"

"I asked the doctors not to."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons."

"Don't they want to know who I am?"

"The staff has been paid not to ask questions. You are safe."

"Sir?" A nurse stood at the door, holding up a file. "I was told to bring this to you."

"Ah, thank you," he paused and leaned in close to read her name tag, "Miss Aiko. And I must say, you, my dear, have a beautiful nose." He snatched the file from her fingers with his thumb and forefinger, holding it out and reading it in the doorway.

The woman, surprised by his oddness, left to gossip about the strange, wild haired man in room 473.

I rolled my eyes. He had said the same thing to every nurse that had walked in.

His eyes scanned the paper. They were wide, wider than usual, as though the whiteness of his eye had been swallowed by a dark pit. His mouth formed a grim line and his eyes flicked over me.

I blinked, and smiled. "Something wrong? My heart on my left side or something? Did I grow an extra lung?" I chuckled.

He bowed his head and let the file rest at his side. He hid his eyes behind his bangs. "Two hairline fractures to the right wrist, history of concussions, broken right arm in six separate places, history of contusions to the face, neck and abdomen, untreated broken ankle that healed crooked and an offset left eye." L paused and looked at me. "To name a few of the _minor _injuries your body has bore witness to."

L watched as my smile faded. I turned my head to the other side of the pillow and gazed at the picture of the girl in the swing. "I want to go to sleep now, L. You can leave."

"Why did you not say anything?"

"I said I wanted to sleep."

"You could have told any of us, if not myself then the Chief, even Matsuda."

"It's personal."

"It is criminal."

Neither of us spoke, silenced by the dismal air.

L tossed the file like a frisbee towards the bed. It slid across the sheets and fell open like a fan. "This is evidence of _years _of physical abuse. The person who did this to you can be brought to justice."

"Justice?" My lip trembled and I sat up. My hair was sticking out in all directions, like straw in a bird's nest, but my eyes were hardened. "There's no such thing! You, L," I pointed a shaky finger at him, "have no idea what I've been through." My voice wavered. "No idea. If it had ever been as simple as calling 911, it would have been done a long time ago." I whispered.

I didn't want to see him anymore. Not when he looked so concerned. As though he actually _cared. _I knew better. All L wanted was to solve a mystery. If I wasn't so useful to him, he would have thrown me away. I brought my knees up to my chest and hid my face from the world. "I want to go to sleep now." I repeated, my voice hollow.

L waited, as though any moment I would spill my heart and tell him everything, but when I didn't, he turned and he left.

The door slammed behind him.

I cried.

L leaned against the door and slowly slid to the floor, listening to my quiet sobs. He covered his eyes with his hand. Somehow, this girl had managed to become even more complicated. More mysteries surrounded her than ever and he hadn't the slightest clue as to where to start. At the moment, his suspicions of Light Yagami had tripled. And with Watari's recent discovery of the girl...

Her crying had subsided to small whimpers.

L felt his chest tighten.

_It was not supposed to be like this. _

**Nearly Two Weeks Later**

In a word, I was grounded.

The hospital wouldn't let me leave until they were certain I would recover, and L did not demand otherwise. The task force had all gone back to work (except the Chief) and I was confined to the perimeter of the hospital. Of course, that didn't mean I stayed in my _room _the entire time.

At the moment, I was racing a boy from the cancer ward down the hall in stolen wheelchairs (and winning). Laughing, I skidded around the corner, startling a gaggle of nurses who were discussing the latest hospital mystery – the case of the missing cafeteria chocolate (I take credit for that one). "Give it up, Haru! You'll never beat me!" I grinned, panting.

Haru, a chunky kid with bright eyes and half his head shaven, took wheelchair racing seriously. He cut in front of me and I was forced to swerve to the side. I didn't see the garbage can until I was neck deep in pudding canisters and apple cores. By the time I had dislodged my shoulders from the refuse vestibule, Haru had reached the front desk and was conducting a victory lap. Grumbling, I handed him two chocolate bars (our bet) and wandered back to my room.

On the way I stopped by the vending machines. I paused for a moment to stare at the spot where I had "died". Two voices calling out to me rang in my ears, unreachable, but I shook away the memory and knelt down. I reached my hand as far up the slot as it would go, my fingers only _just _out of reach of a deliciously salty looking bag of chips. (There's only so much hospital food one can take). I banged my fist on the glass.

Clink.

Ca-chunk.

The machine zzzzted and the bag fell directly into my hand.

Standing over me, collecting change, was Chief Yagami. "I thought you could use a little help." He said, smiling beneath his mustache. He was worse for wear, with tired eyes and deep lines. If I had thought the Chief was looking down in the dumps before, it was nothing compared to this. He was unshaven, his hair was disheveled, there were even _more _lines on his face, and he had lost a considerable amount of weight. That, and seeing him in a hospital dress did not reflect his previous suit wearing chief of police image.

"Thanks, Chief." I mumbled, and turned to walk away.

"Hold on, Miss Krispy."

I waited, popping open the bag and dropping a chip into my mouth. "Yesh?" I asked through tooth-clogged cheesy goodness.

"I," he sighed and looked left and right, then up at the ceiling. Finally, he knelt to one knee, groaning slightly because of his back. He rested on arm on his upright leg and looked up at me. "I read your file."

"Thanks for the chips, I'll see you later."

"Wait." He reached for my wrist and held it gently.

Gloom fell over my eyes, I would not turn to look at him. "You had no right."

"Yes, that is true. But I _did _read it. Ella, I know I crossed a line, but you must learn that carrying the burden of a secret solely on your shoulders is no life to lead. If ever there is anything, anything at all, that you wish to share, please, my door is always open."

His hand slipped away from mine, but I grabbed his fingers before he could leave. "I…" I hung my head, my eyes watering. "Mr. Yagami, normally, I don't like police officers. Do you want to know why?"

The Chief sat down, leaning against the side of the vending machine.

I knelt down next to him, placing my hands in my lap and staring up at the ceiling. "When I was a little girl…"

**Stories of New York Entry #3**

There once was a very boring, very quiet Canadian town. A town so tiny, so dull, that it wasn't on any map. It was overrun by families, the elderly, and people who just couldn't bring themselves to leave. In a small house in between two much larger and obviously more expensive homes lived a family of three. Harris and Lydia Pennypocket, and their young daughter, Sydney.

Their lives were far from storybook perfect. Sydney could remember her mother was always on some sort of diet pill, or magical weight loss drink or exercise program. The little girl liked the work out videos her mother brought home the best, and would often be seen trying to copy her mother's movements with stubby little arms and legs.

"_A brutal murder, the papers said. Poor girl, left there in a puddle of her own parents' blood."_

Her father, a cross country trucker, was rarely seen. Always on the road, his visits were treasured by Sydney and her mother. A large man who did not have a lot to say, but would always bring something from his travels back for his daughter, whom he called 'duckling' after a still-in-diapers-incident of running around the kitchen, flapping her arms and quacking.

"_I'd watch her, if I were you, kids who experience trauma like that grow up bad. It's inevitable."_

On one of these treasured evenings, in the middle of Harris Pennypocket's famous story reading bouts, a stranger knocked on the door. Sydney ran down the stairs and peeked her head around her mother's legs. He was polite, but odd, and had asked for directions. There was no hotel in the tiny town, and the Pennypocket's, a trusting family, offered their humble residence to him for the night. In that instant, they had sealed their fate, a fate that would mark the town with red on the map forever.

"_Says the murderer was serial, he did. Said they were the third family so far. Wonder why he left the little one alive. Goodness knows killing her would have been a mercy."_

Sydney did not remember knowing anything was out of the ordinary. The stranger ate with them at dinner, ate with gusto even, and laughed when she had built her potatoes and carrots into a tower. He told her how much he liked her doll collection, and even acted as though she had cast a spell on him when she dressed up as a fairy. Eventually, it was time for bed.

"_Police everywhere. They even brought an ambulance, though I can't imagine why, by that time there was nothing to stitch back together."_

Sydney remembered her father yell, remembered her mother scream, and remembered the eye. The single eye that stared at her from the crack in her door. She hid under her covers and covered her ears, but could still hear the door creak open. His voice, now slick, twisted, insane. "Sydney Pennypocket…" he purred, and sat next to her on the bed. "Don't cry. You'll thank me one day. You're not like everyone else anymore. Now you're _special_." He patted her on the head, still under the blanket. He giggled. "Would you like to see your mommy and daddy?"

"_The entire room was red. It looked as though he had taken a paint brush and—sickening, I know. The little girl, yes, soaked in it. Said she was trying to wake them up when the police arrived."_

Foster homes couldn't handle her. They all said the same thing. That she didn't talk, she didn't eat, she didn't interact with anyone. She would wander around in her sleep like a ghost and always woke up screaming. Eventually, her aunt and uncle from New York, whom she'd never met, took her in. They put up with her, but they were far from loving. Shortly after that, her aunt succumbed to a tragic traffic accident. Her uncle blamed her, of course, called her bad luck. Dived into the bottle and never came out.

The first time he hit Sydney was when she stood in front of the television. She made excuses for him, since he was getting over his wife's death. The second time, he broke her arm. This was because she looked 'creepy'. Sydney quickly learned to stay out of her uncle's way when he was on the bottle. When he wasn't, he ordered her around. At the time, she was too young to know how to handle it. When she grew older, she knew she couldn't put up with it for long. He was big and she was small, one of these days he might accidentally hit her too hard and she'd drop dead. After he dislocated her shoulder, she stole the phone and hid in the closet.

The police arrived two hours later.

By that time, her uncle had sobered up. She remembered peeking out of the closet and watching as her uncle handed the police officer a handful of cash. She ran out of the closet, sobbing, trying to grab the man's pant legs and begging him to take her away, but he refused to look at her. The problem was, her uncle was a police officer too. No one would believe her. When the man was gone, her uncle kicked her, yelling at her for embarrassing him in front of his coworker. After that, her heart hardened. She would not beg for anyone's help, not anymore. She was on her own in this world.

But every night, before she went to bed, she would pull out a little picture of her and her parents. She was dressed as a flower at her preschool play of Thumbelina, and her father had lifted her up onto his shoulder. Her mother was kissing her on the cheek. This was the only thing that would keep her nightmares at bay.

Nightmares of the stranger.

**End of Entry #3**

Soichiro Yagami rubbed his glasses with his shirt, which had somehow become misty. There wasn't much someone could say to a story like that. As an officer of the law, he dealt with horrific things every day, but to even imagine something like that happening to his own family…it could drive anyone insane. How the Miss managed to smile was a feat in itself.

"I know what you're thinking, Mr. Yagami. After it happened, they called me a 'hero' in the paper. A hero for simply _surviving. _I'm not a hero. I'm just a girl."

"How you wake up in the morning is beyond me." Soichiro said.

Ella didn't reply. Over time she had buried her past. Buried it in a deep, peaceful part of her heart. Dredging it up again made her entire body hurt. Her eyes were dry. She had thought that she would cry, but in fact she felt relieved. The Chief had been right, by telling him her story, it was as though its weight had been cut in half.

"Did they ever," he gestured with his glasses, "catch the man?"

"No, after that he disappeared. There were no more murders, either he changed his MO or we were the last family."

I offered the bag to the Chief and he reached in and took a chip out. "The doctor told me not to eat any junk food, but I don't think one chip will hurt."

I felt a lot closer to the Chief. He had somehow managed to take a fatherly role with myself, perhaps not in the same way he was a father to Light and Sayu, but it was nice.

"I have to tell you," he said, taking a tiny bite of the chip, "not all officers are like that." To Soichiro, just the thought of what her uncle did made him want to beat the man limp, but he suppressed his anger. "My team are people you can trust, I give you my word."

"Oh, I know that." A thought occurred to me and I glanced worriedly at the Chief. "Please, don't tell Ryuzaki."

He sighed. "If it is your wish, I will not share this information. But I think Ryuzaki would surprise you. I believe he is kinder than he reveals to us."

I shook my head sadly. "No one else must know, telling you was hard enough, but I won't have everyone always watching what they say around me or looking at me with pity. I've spent a while building up my reputation," I tried to joke, "having everyone see me as a vulnerable little kid would ruin that."

Soichiro raised an eyebrow. The girl was taking their conversation lightly, as she did with most things. It made him feel almost comfortable with the horrors she had revealed. _Is this her shield? How long must it have taken to so carefully construct this! And how dreadfully, terribly sad. _

Later, Soichiro would reflect on their conversation and would make a mental note to look up her case file in the international database. He wanted to know more about the mysterious girl who had entered their lives so suddenly. In the future, it would be to his mild confusion as to why such a high profile case was nowhere to be found in any file.

After the Chief left, I sat in the middle of my bed in the hospital. On my nightstand was a small pile of get well cards and flowers. One was signed by the task force (I had a sneaking suspicion Matsuda had picked it out, it had a funny caption and a dog on the front) and I couldn't help but notice that Aizawa's signature seemed rather rushed and blotchy. Another was from Sayu, her mother and even Light had signed it. His writing was as neat and robotic as the rest of his demeanor. These and the yellow and orange flowers, however, did little to brighten the room.

I gazed blankly at the get well soon card from the task force. I had no picture to keep my thoughts at bay and images of the stranger swirled around the room._ "Don't cry. You'll thank me one day. You're not like everyone else anymore. Now you're special."_

Special.

If my parents had never been murdered, I would never have ended up in New York. I never would have met Jerry and never would have learned I could leap between worlds. Could the stranger have known this? It was ridiculous. My mind was just rattled. This had been the first time I had spoken about my past since my friendship with Mikal.

The TV buzzed. _"In other words all the reporters and staff here are Kira's hostages…."_

My ears perked up. _Huh?_

I turned up the TV. _"Four days ago Sakura television received tapes…"_

_Oh, we're at this part already. _"Looks like Misa is making her move." I mumbled. Any minute now the Chief is going to barrel out of the hospital and crash an armored truck…hold on. My eyes drifted along the get well card to Ukita's name, written in sloppy, chicken scratch letters. Images of Ukita's grumpy face crossed the surface of the card.

_Ukita!_

This was the day that he died.

I, still wearing my paper dress, leapt out of bed. _I need a car._

_End of Chapter 16_

Jerry might have said there's a dimensional rule or something, but it was your REVIEWS that resurrected Sydney! (Treat yourselves for that one). See. Reviews save lives. There. Now you have a reason to review. Thumbs up!

My thoughts…

Yeah, she didn't die. (How did you know? Hahaha) I just love writing Jerry as a character. He's so much fun. I hadn't planned to reveal Sydney's past so early in the story, but it felt right for the situation. I know you guys aren't into my original scenes (so I restrained my detailed self and made it shorter, although I could pop out fifteen pages with that story no problem), but it's extremely important. (Trust me). It made me sad to write it, and I kept it as mild as I could, but it's definitely necessary. I also wanted to show her relationship with other members of the task force, as some have suggested, and thought the Chief would make a great fatherly-type character. Oh, and now Misa has made an appearance! (Can't wait to write Misa as a character, I'm not sure how Sydney is going to handle someone like her.)

AND L. WHY is it taking so long to get them together? (Answers own question: Realism, staying true to the character, keeping the flow….but STILL!)

Thanks for reading! :)

~ Satchelle

P.S For those who like to ramble in their reviews, GO FOR IT! I love hearing about you guys and your stories and your lives too. One day, I hope to have thousands and thousands of fans (and fan mail) and I plan to answer all of it. Sharing my stories with you guys is probably the coolest thing in the world (for me at least).

P.S.S Yeah, I'm done school, graduated early. (For the record, I barely got through it, I'm the worst procrastinator in the world). Goodbye High school, hello workforce! So now it's time for me to be an adult….eventually. Looks like I'll be paying my parents rent too. T_T There goes all my savings. Cheer me on. It's a race against the clock. Satchelle finishing her books and becoming a millionaire versus running out of money and living in a box.

(Now I'm rambling too. By the way, at the end of this, I'll have a lot of original stuff for Sydney written up, what would you guys think if I turned that into its own original book?)

P.S.S.S By the way, your usernames are freaking awesome. Just thought I'd let you guys know.

Love you guys!


	17. Butterfly Wings

**Chapter 17**

Paper dress billowing in the breeze, I carefully lowered myself from my window ledge and found footing on the rubber weather-awning above the hospital entrance. It was a dreadful piece of scenery, a tattered burgundy stretch of fabric with tasteless, bland letters that ran across it, labeling the hospital's name. _I'm making a habit out of exiting/entering buildings via alternate routes to the front door. _I brushed my nails on my shoulders, pleased. _I must have been a famous cat burglar in a past life._

"HEY! You can't be up there!" A doctor, crossing the parking lot on his way back from his break, shouted. "I need some help here, looks like that American kid is escaping!"

"Oi! Canadian!" I shouted, wobbling. The awning was slick from a recent shower of spring rain. Of course, it was inevitable that I lost my footing. _Maybe I wasn't a famous cat burglar after all. _"Woah!" I slid down the awning, legs scrambling to find grip (still in a paper dress, by the way). "Look out below! OOMPH!"

Luckily for me and unfortunately for him, the doctor made an excellent landing pad. I picked myself up and the man rolled over, groaning. A glint in the pale light that floated from the lobby windows revealed a ring of keys peeking out of his pocket. "I'll take these." I jingled them in my hand and inspected the indention scratched on the grey metal. "Wow, you drive a Lexus? Dude, what was your bonus this year?" I asked, impressed.

The man groaned in response.

Advancing hospital staff burst through the front doors. A woman in a tart skirt and questionably chosen footwear (let's just say she didn't choose black stilettos for _practical _purposes) pointed at me and shouted orders.

"I think I'll be checking out now."

I clicked a button on the keys and a pair of headlights switched on in the parking lot. I ran in the direction of the sheer-blue light the car's high beams expulsed. After a male nurse almost grabbed me, I jumped and started leaping from car hood to car hood (James Bond style), dodging the hospital staff who waved their arms and tried to block my way. Every time my bare feet landed on a car, its alarm would be set off. Soon, a symphony of blaring sirens and flashing lights filled the lot. I clicked the start button on the keychain and the car I was 'borrowing' roared to life.

When I first laid eyes on it, I nearly fainted. "Oh, baby." It was a sleek, sexy machine built for luxury and speed. It was the kind of car you saw on the cover of magazines with bikini models in painful looking high heels sitting on the front. This thing could pay for my college tuition four times over.

And it was _red_ too.

Its finish gleamed like the skin of a polished apple. _If I'm going to save Ukita, I can at least do it in style._

I pressed a button and the door opened with a SHUSH sound. Opened _up_, I should clarify, so that the car looked as though it had wings and could fly. Like a giant, lustrous beetle. I dove in and shut the door behind me, locking it. I raised my hands to grab the wheel – which wasn't there. _I'm on the wrong side!_ I had forgotten people in Japan drove on the _other _side of the road. I started shuffling over into the other seat. My body tingled with excitement (you would be too if all you'd ever taken for a joyride was a beat up go-kart).

"Come to mama."

My fingers clutched the leather-padded gear shift. The revving vibrations from the engine traveled through my arm and made my chest feel as if it contained a hundred buzzing hummingbirds. The combination of the engine and my heartbeat was like a garage band shredding out steep-metallic notes. I flicked on the radio. _Oh yeah…_

The woman in charge who wore the black stilettos stood resolutely in front of the car, her hands placed on the hood in a declaration of immovability. The illumination from the headlights made her look like she was glowing a sharp white. I tapped the gear-shift with my fingers one by one and narrowed my eyes at the lady. _So you want to play chicken, eh? _As though she could read my thoughts, the woman gulped.

She dove out of the way just as I pressed down on the gas. The action turned out to be quite unnecessary however, since the car launched itself backwards instead. My neck was flung forward and I made the mistake of grabbing the steering wheel for support, sending the car spinning. Hospital staff ran for cover and I looked up just in time to see a wall appear in my rearview mirror. I stomped on the break and it skidded to a halt, melting the rubber on the tires and sending foul smelling smoke into the air. The back bumper nicked the wall with no more force than a quarter dropping on the floor.

"Whew." _That was close. _I corrected the stick and pulled (rather violently) out of the parking lot, swerving onto the main road with a screech.

The hospital staff started running around like chickens without their heads. The stiletto-wearing woman, hair frazzled and white coat dirtied, flipped open her cell phone and dialed nine one one with a (now broken) manicured nail.

_Okay, okay, okay, keep calm. Driving is easy. Just remember all the hours you spent playing Need for Speed and you'll be fine. _I told myself as red and yellow lights zipped by above my head. The ride was bumpy, I kept screwing up the shift and the car would jerk forward all of a sudden, stop, then start again. I illegally sped through a red light (not on purpose), the Lexus left a snake-like trail of rubber and other drivers were forced to hit their own brakes to avoid collision.

"Sorry!" I yelled, not that anyone could hear me.

All of a sudden, in the middle of my panic, a screen blinked ON at the centre of my dashboard. The shape of a woman's head appeared, made entirely of vibrant blue lines, as though she had been drawn by radio waves. _"Good evening. Do you care for assistance?"_

"AH!" I screamed and dodged a cyclist, who now waved their fist at my rapidly disappearing bumper. I kept my eyes on the road, but addressed the screen. "YES! Assist me! Are you a GPS or something?"

"_I am the SmartServeSystem, or 3S, here to make your driving experience easy and enjoyable. I do have a global positioning system, if that is what you require."_

"Great!" I ignored the sweat the dripped down the back of my neck as I cut through a line of idling vehicles. _Hang on, Ukita, I'm coming. _"Can you show me how to get to Sakura Production Studios?"

"_Certainly. Would you like the most direct route, or the route with the least projected traffic?" _

"Least projected traffic, least projected traffic!" I yelled in alarm, having managed to get myself on the wrong side of the road. Cars parted left and right, briefly flashing from the reflective light of my car and then fading behind me.

A red dot, representing me, was now shown speeding up the screen. A yellow line zigzagged down several streets before stopping at a pink dot labeled in tiny letters – _Sakura Television Broadcasting Centre. _I took a hard right, unintentionally hopping the curb and frightening some pedestrians to hop out of the way.

Rotating red and blue lights gleamed across my mirror. A siren sounded and a megaphone clicked on. _"This is the police, pull over safely and step out of the vehicle." _

"Give me a break, I'm trying to save someone's life here!" I shouted and winced as I bashed the side mirror on a lamppost, sending glass clattering to the pavement. _I really am trying…_ I ground my teeth together. "DAMNIT, Ukita! You've got to wait! You can't die! Not yet!" I shifted gears, this time more confidently, and floored the gas pedal. "S3, can you show me the news?"

"_Watching television while driving is not recom—"_

"JUST DO IT!"

**In an Unmarked Hotel Room**

All eyes were trained on the multiple television screens placed in front of L. Otherwise, the room was cast in utter blackness, as though any other light would hinder the events unfolding on screen.

"_This just in, a high speed police chase is underway. The driver is suspected of being under the influence. Sources have claimed that the sports car is headed in the direction of Sakura Television."_

The picture on the screen switched to show a helicopter view of the scene. A red blur zipped back and forth across the road, like a brightly coloured fly that had lost one of its wings and couldn't stay still. Several police cars could be seen honing in from side streets. "Could that be—?" Matsuda started.

"Watari, contact the hospital to confirm if Miss Krispy and Chief Yagami are still in their rooms." L ordered, his voice urgent and commanding. His eyes never left the screens, but they switched back and forth, deducing answers and unraveling questions. His hair seemed to merge with the blackness around him, only the edges were lit by the pallid light of the televisions. His eyes grew round, like peach pits, and his hands were gripping his knees so firmly that his fingers were starting to wear through the fabric of his pants.

But Watari didn't need to contact the hospital, because the next image showed a determined looking girl in what appeared to be a paper dress sitting in the driver's seat. Her teeth were bared, as though she were holding something between them. Her eyes reflected the passing lamplight, as if orange streaks of lightning had struck across her normally pale eyes.

"Everyone has gone crazy!" Aizawa shouted angrily.

**Back in the Sexy Lexus**

On the screen a square popped up showing a grainy picture of Sakura TV's front entrance. _No dead bodies yet. I still have time._ From my brief encounters with him, Ukita was an emotional guy. Short, big-eared, temperamental, and a good person. He, aside from Matsuda, was one of the first to accept me. He had stood up for me when no one else would. I couldn't let him die. Not now.

Another police trooper showed up, this time beside me. The man was looking at me as he drove, keeping pace, yelling through the glass and motioning for me to stop immediately. I focused on the yellow dashes of the road that sped past me, melting together into one long line. I could see it! The Sakura TV building! It rose up like a great, towering mountain of brick and glass. _I'm going to make it! _

That's when, out of no where, a reinforced police truck pulled out in front of me, forcing me to hit the breaks. I swerved to the side and two of my wheels lifted up off the ground before smashing back down, popping and sending stale air hissing out into the night. _NO! _I slammed open the door with my shoulder and ran as fast as I could, but a police officer grabbed me from behind, wrapping strong arms around my body. I kicked at the air, shouting, trying to get them to understand. But they weren't listening!

I could see the entrance to Sakura TV, a yellow panel of light against a darkened street. Above the entrance a neon sign blinked, labeling the television studio. Cameramen and a news reporter with neatly combed hair had spotted us and were making their way over. I saw another cruiser pull up, closer to the front doors. "No!" I shouted to the cameramen. "Go back! Stop him! Ukita!" I yelled and elbowed the officer in the gut. He howled and released me.

I hit the pavement running.

I burst past the wall of cameramen, who followed me at a safe distance with their equipment. My heart thumped painfully in my chest, speeding up with each step. I had never run so fast in my entire life, I felt as though I was making my own wind. My hair billowed behind me and the crisp night air lashed my skin raw. Any stars that could be seen past the smog seemed to start to spin, like sand in an hourglass, counting down.

I vaulted over a parking barrier, calling out his name. I was still too far away for him to hear! If only those police hadn't stopped me! _Please, Ukita, turn around, go back! _I could see the car door prop open, see him run out. He banged on the glass of the door, but the security guard refused to let him enter. _Hide your face! Something! _From this angle he looked taller than normal – a man who had so much further to fall. He pulled out his gun—

_No. _Tears escaped the corners of my eyes, flying across my cheeks as I ran.

_NO!_

"UKITAAA!"

My voice sliced through the air, echoing off the surrounding buildings and cars, stamping out all other sound. I raced to the entrance and caught him just as he fell. His weight brought me down, but I held on to his shoulders and laid him stiffly across my lap. "Oh, Ukita," I sobbed, placing my hand on his cheek. I watched as the light in his eyes started to fade, and my sobs racked my body with such force I thought I might break. My breath hitched in my throat and I leaned forward, crying into his suit. "I was supposed to save you." I whispered, sniffing. "Why couldn't I save you?" I yelled, my voice hoarse.

I pounded my hand into his chest and looked up at the lifeless sky, my cheeks still glistening with tears. Anger didn't even begin to describe the mask of emotions that covered my face. It was downright, animalistic _fury. _"MISA AMANE! I KNOW YOU'RE THERE!"

**An Inexpensive Apartment**

A very shabby looking investigator stood in front of his mirror, clad in nothing but white boxers splattered with smiley faces. He flexed his arm, grunting. He managed to stay fit by going to the gym, but he could tell he was already developing a slight belly. His television screen reflected in the bottom corner of his mirror, showing the red alert box for 'breaking news'. He didn't pay much attention to it, too engrossed with jiggling his newfound beer belly.

His brown suit hung on a hook on the door, and his microwave was humming as it blasted a 3 min dinner package with waves of radiation. Clothes were left on the floor and he had started to make a pyramid of beer cans on his counter. Next to the pyramid was a small, teetering pile of paper. The file he had been slowly accumulating on this "Ella Krispy", a person whom he considered his official adversary. The one that got away, if you will.

He gave up trying to figure out which was his best angle and sighed, walking across the small space of his apartment. On his way to his chair (the only piece of solid furniture he owned), he stopped to look at a picture stuck to his fridge. It showed a woman, exhausted but happy, holding up her newborn baby to the camera. She had short hair, and a bright, youthful smile. He touched the picture, letting his finger trail along their faces before tearing himself away and sitting down on his La-Z-Boy.

He popped open a cold beer and scratched his beard, which he had let grow out, showing off spots of grey. He hadn't been to work in a while, ever since the director had asked him to stay on the "down-low" for "media" purposes, which is the same thing as a suspension. The smells of lasagne soon filled the small bachelor pad. _If I ever get a date, this dump will scare her away. _He thought solemnly, as he often did, but had lost all motivation to clean. He downed his last swig of beer, one eye on the TV. _If I don't get laid soon I'll—_His eyes bulged and he spat out a stream of beer (which he would later think a shame to waste), coating his television in golden-brown coloured alcohol.

On TV, clear as day, was that girl! The one who made a joke of him in his own police department! He nearly fell out of his chair as he started scrambling around the apartment, hopping up and down as he tried to fit one leg into his pants. "You won't get away this time, Rice Krispies girl!"

**In an Unmarked Hotel Room **

Aizawa, at the sight of Ella Krispy first on the scene, had thrown a chair with all his might against a wall. Broken bits of wood had fallen to the floor and rolled away in all directions, leaving splinters lodged in the carpet that would never entirely be cleaned out. L may have talked him out of going there, but he was frustrated. Frustrated with the police, with himself, and with _L. _A man who could sit and watch a fellow die without betraying the slightest sign of emotion. He fumed, watching the screens with his arms crossed, livid. He could feel anger bubbling up inside him, fizzing, prickling the inside of his skin. _Ukita_… his drinking buddy, his partner… his _friend_… Now dead, like a common criminal on Kira's chopping block. When this was all over, someone would pay.

L's head hung limply, his chin touching his chest. His expression was completely obscured by his hair, which now hung as a veil to hide his eyes. No one could see… No, no one _must _see. His fingers gripped his legs, as if they were the only anchor that would keep Aizawa from throwing him across the room. L was trying extremely hard to keep himself steady. He was the leader, he had to be strong for _them_, but his hands would not stop shaking.

"_The female seen here has been identified as the very same who broke into To-Oh and sabotaged the new years' opening ceremonies. We have also received information that she is suspected of involvement with a separate murder, alongside a more recent jail-break and tonight's high speed car chase."_

L's head snapped up. _Sydney. _Sydney's life was now in danger as well. But…if his suspicions were correct, she had survived _one_ of Kira's attempts at murder, could she do it a second time?

L was now so close to the screen he could feel static electricity reaching out to touch him, lifting the finer, invisible hairs from his face. However, the movement did not allow him to escape Aizawa's accusations. The man's words would haunt him for a very long time. Despite the fact that these were grown men, _he _had been responsible for them. Ukita had died because of his mistake.

Ella rocked back and forth, cradling Ukita's body in her arms. They were bathed in police light, flashing first red, then blue across their bodies. Even with the grainy picture, her tears could still easily be seen. Matsuda, unable to watch her cry any longer, had to look away.

Then she started to shout.

"Watari, is there any way to receive audio?" L demanded.

Watari folded his hands behind his back and closed his eyes. "No."

L watched the screen. The entire world now knew who Ella Krispy was, but no one would ever know what, at this important moment, she said.

**In Front of Sakura Studios**

"THIS," I lifted Ukita's body slightly, as if to make it clear to the Misa I _knew _was watching, "this…" my voice cracked, "IS UNFORGIVEABLE!"

_Ba-Dump. _

I clutched my hand to my chest, spindly thorns of pain stabbed at my skin around my heart. Misa must have written my name down, or maybe Light had seen another opportunity and in vain tried to snatch it, or maybe I really was just having a heart attack, either way it didn't matter. I winced and my vision blurred. _This is how it feels to die a second time. _I doubled over Ukita's body, moaning, but this time I did not collapse. A flash of black, just for a moment, and a freezing sensation so intense I thought someone had dipped me in a vat of liquid nitrogen, but then I was wide awake. Relief flooded my body. _Jerry was right, I can't die. I'm invincible!_

My victory felt short lived when a police officer who had been chasing me in his car ran towards us to see if he could help. I jumped to my feet, waving my arms in the air. "No! Go back!" I cried desperately. But he took one step too far. He fell as he was running, his hat rolling like the hubcap of a wheel before teetering to a stop. My steps slowed and I dropped to my knees. I held my head in my hands. _Another, another dead. How am I supposed to save L if I can't even prevent the fate of these two? _It had happened so fast there couldn't have been anything I could have done. It was as if Misa was frustrated and had taken out her anger on that innocent man.

I rolled the man into a dignified position and felt the stabbing pain in my heart again. _Misa won't give up. _The length of time I was in agony was less, as if my body was growing accustomed to being killed. Sorrow overcame me once again. I took his hat and placed it over his face. Did this man have a family? Friends who would miss him? Maybe a kid. Now he was another name on a long list, written in blood.

I crawled over to Ukita. I reached my hand up and gently, as if handling the wings of a butterfly, closed his eyes. Never again will he smoke another cigar, or chase another bad guy, or save another life. "Run, Misa." I said, not taking my eyes off Ukita. "Run and hide, hurry up and find your boyfriend, cower in his shadow for protection, I don't care."

I looked up, eyes blazing, and stared right into the camera. "I _will_ take you down."

**A Dark Room in Paris**

A pale hand slipped out of the shadows and reached for the remote, pointing it towards the blaring television in front of him. Across from his chair was a foggy window, showing a breath-taking scene of a glowing Eiffel tower against an ocean's depth of a sky. The tower shone so yellow and so bright that it could have been aflame, and appropriately so, a city set on fire sounded much more amusing to him than a tacky tourist attraction.

A cockroach wiggled through a crack in the wall and scurried along the trim, heading for the kitchen. Sounds of rats scratching in the ceiling never ceased, but it was better than the hole he used to call home. There were no guards at his door 24/7, and no bars on his window. Yes, this place would do just nicely. It was fitting, a place so dark and forgotten that only the vermin will venture near, and vermin he was.

A nail-bitten finger pressed a button, pausing the screen. The small and run down television set that supported extremely long 'bunny ear' antennae, buzzed loudly. The image froze on the zoomed in face of a young girl with pale eyes and tangled chocolate hair. A wicked smile slowly curled at the corner of his mouth, showing off sharpened canines. Oh, it was a different time, a different place, a different _world, _but he still remembered. His tone was slick and sadistic, rolling off his tongue like razor blades dipped in honey. He said the words slowly, savouring them. "_Sydney Pennypocket…"_

_End of Chapter 17_

HEY! What's happening death note fans? Guess what? My mother wants me to go to University! Haha…ha. Saw THAT one coming a mile away. *Grimaces*

Anywho, THANK YOU FOR YOUR AMAZING REVIEWS! I LOVE reading them, they are so interesting and I love YOU! (But not in a weird way…just thought I'd clarify that). We have officially broken the 300 mark, and it only took 16 chapters! (And my blood, sweat and ink :P). Let's PARTAY! *Hands out balloons and streamers* Well, you have to help me decorate first…THEN we can party. *Blows a horn* YAY!

So, a lot of you have asked for L's point of view when Sydney 'died' and I WISH I had written it beforehand but I suppose I just…didn't…think of it. _ SO, thank you for the awesome idea and I shall fit that scene in at some point (I'll make it a surprise ^_^).

Thanks, so much for your support with the fanfic and the idea of me writing something original. I'm never one for criticism (it kills my mood, seriously) so thanks guys for not pointing out my mistakes (that I always end up noticing AFTER I've posted…oh…the _fail_…).

I feel like I'm forgetting something….don't you just hate that feeling? Oh well…

~Satchelle


	18. Lost and Found

**Chapter 18**

My name is Sydney. No, you can not call me 'Syd'. Yes, Sydney is a girl's name, and yes, I was named after that famous Canadian hockey player (emphasis on the 'Canadian'). I like burgers with everything on them, violent video games and snatching wallets. I dislike school plays, cauliflower and persistent police officers. Recently, something very strange has happened that has turned my not-so-ordinary life upside down, inside out and into a reflective tetradecahedronal prism.

According to outside sources (a suspicious native in a cowboy hat) there are other worlds. And not just planets, but dimensions, and they're all connected in some weird spider-webby-way that I'm not going to bother trying to understand. Sometimes, these dimensions leak through the cracks in between worlds and influence the lives of those who live there. Stories, according to our beloved cowboy-hat-wearing-pawnshop-owner, are not just figments of our imagination, but a sneak peak into these alternate worlds. One example, is Death Note.

However, these cracks must be bigger than was led on, because somehow they fit a teenage girl (me, just to be clear) who hurtled straight through them and ended up smack dab in the middle of an animated world, a murderous plot, and a rescue mission.

I am the one and only Sydney Pennypocket, and I'm here to save L Lawliet.

**Where We Left Off**

"Let me through!" The investigator yelled at the other police officers, trying to jump over two who held him back, using their arms to create a barrier. They were donned head to toe in black outfits, complete with bullet proof and fire resistant gear. He couldn't see their faces behind their reflective helmets, but their expressions must have been ones of effort, because he put up one hell of a fight.

"It's too dangerous, sir!"

I watched the scene with steadily increasing alarm, like a frog trapped in a pot of boiling water. I couldn't stay much longer, that investigator looked ready to wade through a vat of burning acid just to arrest me and clear his name. He certainly wasn't afraid of the threat of Kira's 'insta-death' ability, that or he was really REALLY stupid. Several quips of the man's shabby appearance (and less than average IQ) bubbled to my mouth, mostly out of habit, but the bodies at my feet kept me sober.

Ukita was cold.

A slab of meat now rested where a man once stood. A hollow shell, a bag of bones and blood. Every spark of life that ever glowed inside him had disappeared into the bitter, damp earth. Now only a memory lay, limply, in front of me. Like the memories in the Nether, lost and never quite loud enough to be heard, swirling round and round forever in a vortex of eternity.

_I won't let L end up like this._

I gripped the cloth of Ukita's suit protectively, like a child might hold a blanket while watching the schoolyard bully stomp closer and closer. I rooted myself firmly to the asphalt, keeping a close eye on the enraged investigator. Give him a helmet, let him come. I felt certain nothing short of a speeding truck would move me from that spot.

Speaking of.

BEEP BEEP! BEEEEP!

Gathered men and women, all police, broke open and ran out of the way like a bag of blue marbles dumped on the floor. The armoured van, the essence of speeding destruction in the form of a metal box and four wheels, swerved for the Studio's entrance. Chief Yagami couldn't be seen behind the black-out glass, but I knew he was there, pissed off and ready for action.

I TRIED to get out of the way.

And I would have, if I hadn't had the goodwill to drag Ukita's body to safety first. I held Ukita's legs and pulled, grunting. I didn't count on a dead person being so 's how I ended up exactly where I didn't want to be – staring at the grill of a very fast, very large vehicle driven by a _very_ angry dad/chief. He must have thought I'd jump to the side, but it was far too late for that.

The investigator took advantage of the confusion, slammed a police helmet over his head and ran towards me.

Those sitting at home, watching the broadcast, leaned forward on the edges of their seats. Some hands flew to cover mouths, others to cover eyes. Some shouted, some screamed. No one could look away. A stony faced detective watched the screen of his own television intently, his lips a grim line, his thumb pressed so hard against his teeth it almost bled.

Jerry might have said I was invincible, but in the seconds before I was splattered all over the Sakura Studio's lobby, human instinct kicked in. The fear of having one's bones crushed to powder sent a wicked adrenaline rush surging through my body. The adrenaline bit at the walls of my veins, like lemon juice poured on an open sore. The light from the truck blinded me, seemingly expanding on forever like a tunnel of white.

Behind the darkened glass, the Chief attempted to swerve to the side; the truck lifted up onto two wheels, but it wasn't enough.

I could feel the heat of the truck, feel its engine roaring in my shaking bones, the blaring horn dissipated into the air until it was a mere echo. The spinning police lights slowed, a single blink of the eyes seemed to drag on forever and the world faded into a blurry conglomeration of colours and shapes. I became aware of every precious hair on my body, every drop of blood that pumped in and out of my heart, every muscle twitch and fingernail scratch. This is what it feels like to stare death in the face – and I was afraid.

There are many who say when an ordinary man (or woman) is thrust into extraordinary circumstances, they find out what they're made of and who they truly are. In that instant, I felt extremely small and fragile. Not a hero, not an unbeatable character, certainly not invincible. No. I was a tired, lonely, desperate girl stuck in a strange place far away from home. I was Sydney, and I was lost.

So (and to my eternal embarrassment) I fainted.

**The Investigator's POV**

Behind the tinted visor of my stolen police helmet, I saw the truck near the girl, saw her eyes flutter and her limbs grow limp. Her lips parted and her expression relaxed. She fell forward, only for an instant, before I slammed into her with enough force to rival a professional linebacker. We sailed through the dusty light of the armoured truck and emerged into the cool darkness – alive. I managed to turn around so it was my back that hit the pavement, holding the girl safe in my arms (a gentlemanly instinct that I will no doubt regret later). As we slid back, I clenched my teeth together and winced as my suit was shredded. I held back a painful growl as a wound opened along my shoulder and gravel ground into my tender flesh.

The glass of the front entrance to Sakura Studios burst and shattered the moment the van speeded through it, as easily as if the steel-lined doors were paper. The glass showered down on us like glittering rain, scratching my helmet and becoming tangled in Krispy's hair. She snored on my chest, completely unawares that I saved her undeserving behind from a painful end. With a grunt, I managed to lift her onto my good shoulder and carry her back to a squealing police car like a sack of potatoes. I (none too gently) tossed her into the back seat and started the ignition, aptly refusing any medical attention that was thrust upon me.

Time to get my career back.

**Nearby**

Misa attacked the paper again and again, slicing at it with her pen as though she were holding a knife and stabbing the irritating girl in the heart herself. Her pen engraved its ink so deeply into the paper it nearly cut through it. The name, repeatedly spelled out, was like an empty, soulless trench amongst the colourless paper. The hateful letters burned their image into the back of her mind and refused to go away. _Sydney Pennypocket._ With a scream she threw the sleek notebook to her feet with all her strength, casting its betrayal to the floor. "Re-em," she said, her tone high pitched and pleading. She pointed out the window at the murderous scene below, "Kill her for me!"

To anyone else, it would appear as though the Gothic-Lolita-dressed bottle blonde was demanding an assignation from thin air. But in reality, a ghostly being floated in front of Misa with a dreary expression. The being was, of course, a Shinigami, with a surprisingly patient temperament. She hovered only inches above the floor with her long, sagging arms drooping as though they weighed too much to hold up. Her body contorted with oversized bone fragments attached like joints, spiking out into sharp points from her slumped shoulders. Stitches lined the base of her neck, neatly attaching her head to her elongated body. Purple paint, or perhaps that was her skin colour, zigzagged from down-turned lips and towards her single yellow eye. The eye's pupil stared unblinkingly at Misa, narrow as an adder's and just as dangerous. The other was covered by bandages, either too gruesome to see (unlikely, as Shinigami prefer things that horrify and frighten humans), or a mere fashion statement.

Rem gazed down at Misa calmly, her voice was deep and full – like a dormant volcano or the final toll of a church's bell. "It is not so easy, Misa. I cannot be sure, but the life of this Sydney Pennypocket that you so wish to end is protected by forces far beyond you or I."

Misa screamed and squealed and kicked her feet, holding her breath and plugging her ears like a toddler might when unable to reach the much-sought-after cookie jar on the top shelf. Her face wrinkled into a mutilated version of her normally appealing features. "I-want-her-dead!" She repeated the words over and over, stomping her feet and shutting her eyes, her cheeks flushing a furious red.

Rem waited quietly as Misa continued with her fit, slinking back into the shadows of the room. Her thoughts were many in number and severe in content. Travellers were well known and taboo amongst Shinigami. Shinigami themselves had the power to venture between worlds, but only two – their own and the humans. Everyone knew that the Shinigami King had been trying for centuries to discover the secret to slipping between the invisible walls of the universe, but when he could not succeed, he decreed all Travellers to be taken to him and if unable to be exterminated, cast into another gateway and locked from their world forever. This one was obviously alive. Something, or someone, was protecting her from death itself.

_Hmm_. Rem pondered. _That protection will not last long. I can already sense the King stirring. _

**In a Speeding Police Vehicle **

The investigator yanked the wheel to the side and spun the car around, stopping it before it crashed into the polished limousine. He honked on the horn. "Get out of the way!" He cried and honked again.

A cloaked man emerged from the shadows of the expensive town car, sweeping his jacket along the ground in one fluid motion. He held up a high authority identification tag to the investigator's window, and the unshaven man felt his heart sink. Slowly, he rolled down the window.

"Official business, we'll take the girl off your hands." An aged voice said from behind a bristly grey moustache.

The investigator gripped his steering wheel resolutely. "I don't think so! This is my catch and there's no way in hell that you're taking—"

That was all he managed to say, however, as the cloaked man reached through the window and squeezed a pressure point on the unlucky investigator's neck. His head dropped and his chin pressed down on the horn, honking it repeatedly. The investigator would wake up minutes later with a horrible headache and find that 'Ella Krispy' had once again disappeared – he would then proceed to curse so colourfully that he could turn a sweet tart bitter.

**In the Limo**

Watari gently placed Sydney in the backseat, where L was waiting. She stirred, mumbling in a dream. Sensing the warmth from his body, she snuggled closer to his lap. Yellow and red light streaked across L's eyes as they passed beneath street lamps. He watched Sydney's carefree expression oddly, then, slowly, lowered his knees from their upright position. They hitched, as if were made of tin and needed to be oiled, but he placed his feet firmly on the matted floor. At the same time, with great effort, he straightened his shoulders. Sydney, as if able to see her caretaker's act of altruism, found refuge in his lap. She used it as a pillow and brought her own thumb to her lips. L softly placed his hand on her hair, sweeping the glass from its woven entrenchment. Salt lines could still be seen on her cheeks, and her eyelids were red and puffy.

He found himself thinking about when her eyes were open, clear and crisp. Not as bright as sapphires, no, more like blueberries. He more than once caught her looking at him with those eyes, shining with delight as she watched him work. And her skin, so young and vibrant, with a splash of pale, almost unnoticeable freckles across her cheeks. The wonderfully imperfect way her one ear stuck out just slightly more than its counterpart. How her lips seemed to expand across her face when she smiled, mostly cheekily but sometimes . . . he thought she smiled at him in a different way. A delicate way, as if she were simply happy to be near him.

_Happy to be near me . . . _

_End of Chapter 18_

Tired, but pleased. Why are all my chapters written near two in the morning? Yeah, it's short, but I've written a lot (for me, even a page is a lot :P ) for some original stories, so I feel good about it. I have tomorrow off work, so I'll spend it writing. Love you guys. I'm going to sleep now. Review if you can. And smile at least once tomorrow.

~Satchelle

PS: L is the cutest! *Squee*


	19. Handcuffs and Apples

Hello! I am back and better than ever, though this took a little longer. I know you waited, but it's worth it. I am extremely proud of this chapter (maybe because it's 3am in the morning and I can't tell good from bad anymore). For those of you who didn't receive notice that I took down my A/N and put up Chapter 18, you should PROBABLY go read it right now or you'll be missing a big chunk of the story.

~Satchelle

**Chapter 19**

"_L_." I mumbled, rubbing my cheek against his collar bone.

"Yes, Miss Ella?" He asked, and I felt his breath drift across my face and snake along the curve of my neck.

I sighed happily, still sinking in the pool of my dreaming subconscious. "Why are you hugging me?" If only this moment could last forever.

"If you would open your eyes, you would see that it is you hugging me."

As if slapped by an electric eel, I jerked away from his arms. I quickly rubbed the corners of my still sleepy eyes and blinked the gunk away. Slowly, like the lens of a camera, the world came into focus. L sat upright against the headboard of a four poster bed, and true to his word, it was me who was on top of him. My face turned a violent fire hydrant red. "I-I . . ." I started, still unable to force my lethargic tongue to form a sentence.

"After you were rescued by the head investigator, the one you inadvertently continue to cross paths with," L stopped for a moment, considering something, and then continued, "you fainted. We took you from his custody and brought you here. However," L touched his thumb to his lips and I was certain he was suppressing a laugh, "you would not let go of me."

"That can't be true! I'm a very light sleeper!" I hit the blankets with my hands, my mouth open, flabbergasted.

"From recent evidence, I would have to say otherwise. You have a very strong grip, Miss Ella." He stretched his arms above his head and bent forward, groaning, as if he'd been stuck in one position for too long and his muscles had grown sore. "And you talk in your sleep."

Now L was enjoying my reactions, I could tell. The way his normally dark eyes shined and the corner of his mouth twitched – the jerk. _He likes messing with my head. I bet he does this with everyone just to get a kick out of it. _"Oh really? And what did I say?"

Suddenly, L's demeanor changed. He looked at me with dry eyes, and then turned away. "That is not relevant."

"No, go on. What did I say?"

L smacked his lips. "I am in the mood for something sweet." He moved to leave the bed, but I held onto his shoulder. He paused. "Miss Ella, have you not received enough human contact for one evening?"

I blushed, but refused to let go. "Don't change the subject. Tell me what I said!" _I hope it wasn't anything embarrassing. _I thought, feeling sick, I could never remember my dreams. _What if it was something like "I love you," or "marry me," or— _Suddenly,my train of thought derailed off its track.

A thin blanket of moonlight dripped through the window and down the wall. It seeped into the wood, filling the cracks in the floorboards and overflowing. It trickled towards the bed like a gentle, celestial wave dampening the sand. The moment the first ray wet L's toes the light seemed to explode with new energy. It burst up his legs and arms and fell over his head. The whiteness teased the edges of his hair, as if challenging the shadows that hid within.

In those few seconds, L seemed a lot older than before, a lot more handsome. Less witty detective, less 'cute', just . . . tired. For a moment, he let everything he'd seen and done leak into his eyes, swirling chaotically before being hidden back within the depths of his gaze. It gave me a mixture of fright, and wonder.

"El . . . _Sydney_ . . ." He started, looking at me, almost with anticipation. I could tell there was a question on his lips, waiting to be freed into open air.

I felt my heart jump. My entire body felt as if it were charged, ready to bolt, but I gripped the blanket with my hands as if it were an anchor to keep me from floating away. "Y-yes? L?"

L opened his mouth, hesitated, then turned his head away. "You were calling for a boy named Mikal." L said, interrupting my "in-awe-ness". "In your sleep," he clarified. L looked up at the ceiling, back to his usual self, and acted as if he was disinterested in what I had said while asleep. Despite this behavior, I got the sense that he was bothered, maybe even disappointed in my words.

I sat back limply. "Oh." Images of Mikal's face flooded my vision. Smiling Mikal, deep in thought Mikal, concerned Mikal, Mikal. . . I felt my heart twinge with guilt. If I were in my own world I would have visited him by now, read him a story or fed him dinner. It was the least I could do after the accident—

"Someone you know?"

"Yes, I mean no, I mean, he was my. . ." My eyes glazed over, "he _is_ my. . ." I shook my head, "never you mind! It's none of your business anyways!"

"Are you angry with me again, Ella?" L asked softly.

My face fell. L was, of course, referring to when I had yelled at him in the hospital room. "I _thought_ you were angry with me." And it was true. L had seemed extremely upset when I refused to tell him any part of my past. Fighting with L felt horrible, the week after I spent long hours trying to think of how that conversation could have gone better. To think L felt any sort of odium towards me made my heart ache.

"I overstepped a boundary and was too forward, I see that now. I do not need to know everything." L's eyes shifted, perhaps with guilt, I'll never know, I didn't notice. I was completely unaware that he had already formulated an entire separate case load on my behalf, including lab tests of my fingerprints and DNA. Not needing to know everything was not a _complete_ lie – he did not _need _to know, but he wanted to. Of course, in his mind, the situation did not necessitate for me to be informed of those small details.

I raised an eyebrow. "That almost sounded like an apology."

"I assure you, I will not inquire into your personal life again."

I wasn't sure how that made me feel. Was L really just respecting my privacy? Did he stop caring? Had he ever cared? Had he grown bored with me? _What does it matter? I got what I wanted. . . didn't I? _Troubled, I lied down, letting my head sink into the depths of a silky pillow. "Thank you." I whispered, feeling confused, and closed my eyes. "What about Ukita?"

"The funeral will be within the week." L said, his voice slightly hoarser than before, as if it hurt him to speak of Ukita. He cleared his throat. "I thought you were very brave, for what you tried to do."

I knew L wanted to ask me what my motivation was for stealing a car to reach Sakura TV, if I knew Ukita's fate beforehand. I also knew that _he _knew I wouldn't tell him, and nothing he said or did to me would change that. Therefore, _that_ potential conversation became a waste of time, and wasting time was not a habit of L's.

"More like stupid." I laughed, but kept my eyes shut. If I opened them, I was sure I would start to cry. "Ukita was the brave one." I whispered.

L nodded. "If you will excuse me," he said, "Light Yagami is on his way to review the tapes sent by Kira, I must greet him."

"Oh, well then I'll come too—"

CLICK

I felt the cool brush of metal clasp around my wrist. Before I could resist, L fastened the handcuff (now attached to ME) to the bedpost.

"What do you think you're _doing_?" I shouted, trying to pull my hand from its snare. The handcuff at the police station had cut at my skin like ice, but this one was warm and painless (because it was previously making itself at home in L's pocket).

"I do believe you have gotten yourself into enough trouble, Miss Ella. I would rather you not reveal to the young Yagami that you are working with us on this investigation – at least not right now. I will return after Light has left."

"You can't be serious?" I yelled, outraged (ridiculously so).

And here we arrive at the scene I mentioned earlier (I told you it would take a few chapters to get to). If you suffer from slight short term memory loss (or just skipped that part) please refer to the introduction of Chapter 13 where I describe what happens next. Note that through all this I am (still) wearing a paper hospital gown, which makes the events that much more embarrassing.

(Insert Intro to Ch.13)

After fuming for a few minutes, I calmed down and started to think rationally. I didn't have my universal handcuff key I had picked off the investigator; L had confiscated that the moment he found my stash along with some other tools of the trade I kept handy. I had nothing to jimmy the lock with, no handsaw either. _Hmmm . . . I wonder. _I managed to turn myself around, though my elbow stuck out at an awkward angle. I inspected the wood of the bedpost.

_Might as well try. _

I unsteadily rose to my feet, wobbling on the bed like a raft bumping down white-water rapids. Shakily, I raised my foot, heal out. _Okay, let's see whether or not the Karate Kid lied to me. _"HI-YAH!" I shouted, snapping my heel out and striking the wood with as much force as I could muster.

I immediately regretted it.

"#$#*^^#!" I cursed, hopping up and down and holding my foot with my free hand. "&W#$^&! #$*&(! W$#!"

_Knock-knock._

"L, if that's you I swear I'll—oh, hello Matsuda."

Matsuda stood, stunned, in the doorway. "I was looking for the restroom." He said, blinking repeatedly. "Am I interrupting something?"

"It's not what it looks like!" For some reason, I felt extremely self conscious wearing only a paper dress in front of Matsuda. One good breeze and we'd have to update our 'acquaintance' status. "Do you or don't you have a key?" I asked, eager to get to the point.

Matsuda began fumbling in his pockets, flustered. "Yes, but if Ryuzaki thinks it best to restrain you . . ." he fiddled with a ring of keys.

I fell to my knees in a huff. "Do I look dangerous to you?"

To my surprise, Matsuda laughed. "I don't know what to think of you, Ella. You're difficult to judge."

I smiled weakly. _Matsuda's a lot deeper than he gets credit for. _"Must be my bubbly personality."

Matsuda sat down next to me and started testing each key on his ring one by one, jiggling them in the lock. His weight created a divot in the blankets, forcing me to lean against him. He smelled strongly of men's deodorant and looked as though he hadn't had a haircut in several months. But even from this close I couldn't see any sign of facial hair on the young officer. His suit didn't quite fit on his small frame, and his eyes were bright and youthful, but also kind.

Finally, the handcuff snapped off. "Thank you." I gave him a small smile.

Matsuda returned my smile, and then his expression grew concerned. He lifted up my wrist, holding it delicately, like a flower petal. "It left a mark." He said, frowning.

I retracted my wrist from his hand and rubbed it gently. "I'll be fine. I've been through worse."

That only made him more upset. "Miss Ella, even if your intentions are not clear, I do not think you deserve this sort of treatment. Someone as good as you should be taken care of." Matsuda said this all very fast, as if he had been wanting to say this for a very long time. Probably since L trapped us in that elevator, come to think of it.

Now it was my turn to blink. _Matsuda's more than just a good guy, isn't he? _I felt as if someone was squeezing my heart with their fist. "You're too kind." I said, my voice barely audible. _I deserve better . . .?_ I repeated in my mind, as if it was a completely new concept.

"I apologize," Matsuda said quickly, "it was not my pla—"

Matsuda stopped suddenly because I cut him off. Completely in the spur of the moment, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and buried my head in his arm. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice choking.

Matsuda, knowing there was nothing more he could say, held his tongue. A tinge of red criss-crossed his cheeks, but he kept his composure.

I let Matsuda leave first, giving myself time to recover from his heartfelt words. They meant a lot to me.

Now, time to go hunting.

For some real clothes, just to clarify, in case you imagined me tip toeing down the hall wearing face paint and carrying a spear.

I crept along the hallway, avoiding the main room until absolutely necessary. We were in a different hotel room this time, but the concept was basically the same. I could hear unintelligible voices from around the corner, but couldn't make out what they were saying. _Perhaps Light is already here. _Finally, I came across the last door at the end of the hallway. It was unlocked. I peeked inside. The room was completely dark. I reached for the light switch . . .

"What do you think you are doing?" A voice asked, giggling madly from inside the darkened room.

I nearly jumped out of my paper dress. I would know that voice anywhere. "Scab," I hissed. "I could ask you the same question." Quickly, I slipped into the room and shut the door behind me. "Where are you, you little creep?" I squinted in the darkness, feeling for the light switch.

His large, saucer dish eyes started to glow a sharp yellow. They spun and rotated dizzyingly in the darkness as he flew around, snickering. "You've been busy, haven't you, human girl? I've had reports of your name being written in multiple death notes fallen to earth. Looks like the King isn't the only one who wants you dead." He laughed, wheezing, like a deflated, squeaky children's toy.

Finding the switch I turned it on. A short, lonely orange lamp now illuminated the room. _This looks familiar. _A single mattress, a blanket too small for a grown man, a mattress in the corner and a suitcase . . . This is L's room. I knelt down and inspected the suitcase, noticing that there was now a padlock on the zipper. I plugged my nose, Scab's rotten corpse smell overwhelming my senses and making my eyes tear up. "What do Shinigami have against Travelers anyways?"

Scab placed his bony arms behind his head and floated upside down, drifting alongside me. "Fate is the instrument of the Shinigami. We manipulate fate to our advantage."

"You're monsters who _kill_ humans," I corrected.

"You might see us as monsters, but killing humans is our right, what we were made for. Travelers, like _you _and that troublesome feather wearing fellow" he spat, "are meddlers. We Shinigami do not appreciate interference."

"But you're a traveler, Scab. If Shinigami were made to kill, perhaps you were made for another reason. Don't you want to find out what?"

"Of course not! I have sworn allegiance to the King. I only use my gift when he sees fit." Scab lifted his bony chin proudly. "I am his most loyal servant."

"And the dumbest," I muttered under my breath.

Scab opened his mouth, his teeth the size of tombstones, to reply with an equally scathing remark, but stopped. He lifted his hollow nasal cavity in the air and sniffed. His pink hair wriggled, like hissing snakes, as if it sensed an unpleasant odor. "Another Shinigami is here. That backstabbing, trickster Ryuk!" The miniature Shinigami vibrated with rage. "The only one to ever outsmart my King!"

_Looks like Light has arrived with his ever haunting poltergeist in tow. _For a while, I had forgotten Ryuk was silently watching the unfolding events. Ryuk was a loveable, if not slightly creepy, character. But at times, he could be frightening. It would certainly be interesting to meet him, though I would have to keep several apples handy. To think, all this madness began because a Shinigami had grown bored. I watched Scab warily out of the corner of my eye. If thousands of humans were killed over a _bored _Shinigami, I'd hate to see what would happen with an angry one.

Scab began to fade from view. "I need to go give that apple loving Ryuk a piece of my rotting mind, but before I do," his eyes rolled back in his head so that I could only see green veins. It made Scab a lot more ominous than comical. His tongue snapped against his teeth, tinted black, as if he ate coal for breakfast. "The King has requested an audience with you."

I crossed my arms. "Ha! Tell your King that if he wants to see me_ he_ can come down to earth. Otherwise he can kiss my—"

Scab chuckled, his normally nails on a chalkboard voice echoing with resonance. "Very well, human girl. Time is different in our realm; my master will not have to wait long. Soon, Sydney Pennypocket," he raised a flesh-eaten finger and pointed it gravely at me, "you will be begging to see the King."

"Are you always this stupid or are you making a special effort today?"

Scab scoffed, snapped his fingers and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Pushing Scab's foreboding words from my mind, I danced around the room until I came across a closet. I flung it open. _Perfect. _Neatly folded were several white shirts and jeans. _So, he has more than one set. Were they on sale, or does he just really like the style? _I grabbed a shirt and hastily pulled it over my head. Reaching to my knees, it was long enough that I could wear it as a dress. I scrunched up the sleeves and used a stray pin I found in the restroom to lock my hair in a messy bun (not that it turned out great, I'm pretty sure it looked like a Muppet nested on my scalp).

Whistling, I skipped into the front room. Standing around a TV screen was the Kira task force. L was in the kitchenette pouring whipped cream onto a plate of pie while keeping one inquisitive eye on Light, who sat in a singular chair in the middle of the group. On screen played the Kira (A.K.A Misa-poser) tapes.

When I entered the room, everyone turned to look at me. Pretending nothing was out of the ordinary, I swept into the kitchen, humming playfully. I spun on the balls of my feet (avoiding L), fluidly picking up an apple from a bowl of fruit on the counter (this time NOT plastic). I tossed it in the air and shined it on my shirt/dress.

When Light first saw me, his surprise was overcome with absolute detestation. His eyes narrowed and flickered with crimson and his mouth tightened. He surveyed me with his chin held high, as if my appearance was a direct insult to everything he stood for. I saw his finger twitch, as if he were imagining it around my throat.

His feelings were reciprocated.

Pure loathing rose in my throat like a venomous spitfire. I wanted to tackle the murderous pig to the ground and beat him with my bare hands until he begged for mercy. Not only was he killing criminals, not only was he partially responsible for unleashing Misa unto the world, but he had tried to kill _me. No, not tried. He DID kill me. _(Worse, he _kissed _me. Gross doesn't begin to describe how _that _felt). I couldn't remember hating another human being more.

I smiled politely and waved. "Oh, Light, so good to see you again."

"Yes," he said, his eyes rounding to one of innocent interest, "I have seen you before. At the university, and the hospital, and a café if I'm not mistaken." He turned to L for confirmation (not that he needed it).

L glanced disdainfully at Matsuda, and then gave me a look that said _"We will discuss your misbehavior at a later date." _He took a giant bite of his lemon meringue pie, licking the whipped cream from his fingers. "Yes, mmph," he chewed it slowly, savoring the taste, "Miss Krispy here is a key element in our Kira investigation."

"Not that any of us knows _why_." Aizawa added, abruptly standing up from his chair.

The Chief interjected. "Miss Krispy has proven herself to be more than an asset to—"

"How?" Aizawa exclaimed. "By driving everyone off the deep end?"

"Please," L said quietly, "sit down."

Aizawa gestured with his hand, casting away L's request. "Hah, I'll need a drink first." He muttered. Ignoring his colleagues' shouts, he stormed for the door. Before he slammed it behind him, he turned his head and quietly said "perhaps all of you have forgotten that Miss Krispy is also a suspect."

The room sat in silence from Aizawa's departure. I leaned over to Matsuda and muttered behind my hand. "I'm a suspect?"

"A doubtful, minor percentage, but all possibilities must be explored." L said before Matsuda could reply.

I shrugged. _I'm not Kira, so it's not a problem. _I found myself staring at the empty space above Light, half expecting to see the gigantic figure of an amused Ryuk floating in the air.

Light noticed I was staring, but didn't let on. He would store that information for later.

I threw myself down on the sofa, lying down lengthwise and putting my feet up on the armrest. Pretending to be bored, I stared at the ceiling, tossing the apple in the air over and over. The red orb gleamed in the TV's light, flashing like a red beacon, before being wrapped in fuzzy shadows as I snatched it from the air. If only there was some way to point my finger at Light without setting off the Shingamis' alarms. If there was some way I could tell L that he's right to suspect Light . . .

(Feel free to picture a light bulb DINGing above my head).

With a victorious smile on my lips, I tossed the apple into the air one more time before throwing it in Light's direction. Time slowed and, upon reflex, Light reached out and caught it. In slow motion, he looked at the apple, then at me, eyes narrow and glowing scarlet. "For you, Light, I know how much you love apples."

The room fell into silence.

I grinned.

_End of Chapter 19_

To the Forever Faithfuls: If only you guys reviewed the way you debated! (Gee, that was the first time I sparked an argument on the internet. I'd call that a success. Thank you to everyone who read and replied to my A/N, especially those who were supportive. No hard feelings for Tenshi AT ALL (just to make sure if I didn't get that across.) For people who are reading this and have ZERO CLUE what I'm talking about, PM me and I'll send you my A/N addressing a critical analysis of my story.

Was that not enough FLUFF for you? L, Matsuda, the CUTENESS! (Dies from cuteness). Ahem. And what happened to Mikal? O.O And the Shinigami King is restless (Crowd Ooohs). AND Aizawa is about to POP? I LOVED writing this (even if it is 3am) and I'm happy to read everyone's reviews again. Sorry if I haven't replied as I normally do, I've been bloody busy (but I read every single one I swear!)

I am now on Fictionpress (oh the advertising), and I'm only letting you know in case you feel like reading some of my unnoticed original stuff I put up. It's really just there to share some of my crazier, more irritating stories with you. Unfortunately, the site is less user friendly, so the editing and formatting might be under par. I'll say right off the bat that it's first draft crap (I definitely don't need to be reminded haha) so PLEASE be kind (or crush me like a pop can, whichever suits you haha).

Humbly at your mercy,

Satchelle


	20. Ruby Slippers

**Chapter 20**

**Light's House**

Light stormed up the stairs to his room, flung open the door and slammed it shut. He threw himself in his desk chair, causing it to spin full circle. He leaned back, covering his eyes with his hands and growling at the ceiling like a primeval sabre. "I'll find a way to kill her, Ryuk. Her and her boy-toy."

Ryuk chuckled darkly, showing off a row of small, pointed teeth. His lips were blue, the color of oxygen deprived blood. His chalk-white skin was riddled with creviced shadows in the dim lighting, and his yellow eyes bulged from his massive skull like ping pong balls dipped in mustard. He appeared to float in mid air, his wings retracted because of the small space. "Boy-toy?"

"You couldn't tell?" Light began fiddling roughly with his pen, imagining stabbing it repeatedly in the girl's soft neck. "He's a good actor, but I'm the best. That temptress has L, if that's who he really is, wrapped around her finger – and _she_ knows I'm Kira. I'm sure they're working together, planning on how to make me slip up." He spat.

The fur stitched around Ryuk's neck ruffled, like a shiver. "Human love disgusts me."

Light ignored him. He had become used to Ryuk's complaints about the human race, which were frequent and usually poetically descriptive. "What I need is a weakness. Something that will bring her to her knees." He groaned. "But I can't find any documents or records on her. It's like she doesn't exist!" In a surge of anger, he whipped the pen across the room. It collided with the wall and exploded, the ink creating a dark, shiny blotch. It slowly dripped down, like streaks of black blood, and puddled on the carpet.

Light's face reflected in the shine of the ink, distorted and warped, like a Picasso painting. The image of Ryuk, who floated just behind him, was strangely absent, similar to vampire lore.

A breeze drifted past the crack in the window, nudging the curtain aside. The red pupils of Ryuk's eyes narrowed, they were slightly off centre, as if he was a chameleon focussed on two things at once. He sniffed the air, then his gaze pinpointed a corner of the room. "Ah, looks like we've been followed."

Light jumped out of his chair. "By who?"

Ryuk's smile grew wider until it looked as though his blue lips had cut a section off his face, like a doll. "Another Shinigami."

Light relaxed, but he followed Ryuk's line of sight with suspicion. "A friend of yours?"

Ryuk snorted. "Hardly."

Light paced back and forth, placing his hands behind his back. "What do they want?"

"A word."

As if from mid-air, a small piece of ripped paper fluttered to the ground. Light hesitated, then reached down and picked it up. Immediately a second floating figure came into focus. A Shinigami. Compared to Ryuk, he was much more worse for wear. Covered from head to toe in stitches (which appeared to be the only things holding him together) the half sized Shinigami's grey skin seemed to be melting. His eyes, a similar bulging to Ryuk's, but three times larger, rolled around madly in his skull. Tufts of neon-pink hair sprouted at various places on his skeleton-thin body (certain areas I'll refrain from mentioning). His elongated fingers were extended, and his sharpened nails clacked together, almost obsessive-compulsively.

The new Shinigami opened his mouth and a rough, high pitched voice came out, like the sound of a cat scratching on a post. "Light Yagami. You're famous on the other side, you know. Quite lovely to meet a human with such – Shinigami sensibility." The Shinigami nodded his head. "Scab, advisor to the King."

Light's eyes flashed. "The King?"

Ryuk spoke up. "King of the Shinigami; rule maker, enforcer, and glutton." Ryuk lowered his voice. "I heard he eats the souls of misbehaving Shinigami, and some human's too, though rumour has it you're a little too salty for his taste."

"Silence!" Scab screeched. "What the King does in his free time is none of your business, Cheater-Ryuk!"

Ryuk shrugged innocently. "I prefer 'entrepreneur'."

Light took a step towards Scab, separating the two. "Why have you come here?"

Scab scratched some dandruff from the bare edges of his scalp, letting it fall like snow. His eyeballs stopped rolling and he drifted closer to Light, who refrained from plugging his nose against the sweet-sour smell the half-sized Death God emanated. Scab tilted his head to the side, his lipless mouth curving in a creepy smile. "The King wishes to grant you a proposition."

"And what..." Light started, speaking carefully, "would the King want with a human like me?"

"We have a common enemy. The King would like to strike a deal. A soul for a soul. One life for one life."

Light appeared emotionless for several seconds, and then he started to laugh. It began as a small chuckle, but evolved into a guffaw. Ryuk floated behind him, silent and ominous, but equally entertained. Light held his stomach and threw his head back. "Your King wants to hire me as a hit man? Why not another Shinigami?"

Scab's eyebrows rustled, as if being hit with static electricity, in annoyance. "This soul cannot be taken by Shinigami hands. There are cosmic rules to follow, but loopholes exist. If you kill this person, we will kill one for you."

Light wiped a mock tear from his eye. "And who are these people you speak of?"

Scab raised two, bony fingers, and folded one down with a CRACK for each person he named. "I believe you know them. The Pennypocket girl in exchange for the detective, 'L'."

Light's laughter cut short. His eyes streaked red, but he silenced his bloodlust with an indifferent expression. Casually, he reached inside his pocket and retrieved the apple Ella...or should he say 'Sydney', had tossed him. A bold, risky declaration, and proof that she knew much more about the investigation than she led on. He wiped a smudge from its smooth, spotless surface. By now it was soft, but it shined in the dim light like a large, fragile ruby. Without any indication, he crushed the half-rotten fruit in his hand. The juice dripped down his fingers, and he let the pieces fall to the floor – one by one. "Tell your King," Light looked up, his eyes black, bottomless wells of dark fire, "he has a deal."

**In the Usual Hotel Setting**

"Is there no end to your insubordination? Must I insist a thousand times for you to follow orders before you listen? Do you understand what you have done? Not only have you put yourself in a potentially dangerous situation, but you have revealed more than you should. If I were sensible, I would lock you up until this investigation has ended."

I hung my head, but I couldn't suppress my smile. My fingers, held submissively behind my back, twitched nervously. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, rustling the long white shirt (from L's personal stash) that I wore as a dress (it's fashionable). My lashes fluttered with each sentence he whipped at me, as if his words attacked me like a cold wind, but my eyes twinkled. Was I bold? Was I daring? Was I badass? Hell yes. But most of all – I was cooler than cool whip. I was down right glacial.

L sat in his chair in his usual position, showing no mercy to a chocolate slice of cake. He ravaged it with his fork, stabbing it with each declaration of my reckless behaviour. His words were mumbled as he ate, but he didn't spill a single crumb. To be honest, I think he ate that chocolate in front of me as another form of punishment to go along with his statements (my stomach was growling the entire time).

"Come on, L! You have to give me points for style!"

L licked his lips. "No, I certainly do not have to give you anything. I kept you locked up for your own safety. _Now_ you have Matsuda's sympathies too. I warned you, Miss Ella. I told you if you disobeyed drastic measures would be taken to keep you out of harm's way. And it is Ryuzaki, as I have said many times before, when we are in the hotel room."

"Don't be silly, L, no one else is here. Besides, I think I've proven difficult enough to harm. I'm the safest one on the team!" I was, of course, referring to Jerry's earlier confession. According to him, I was impervious to damage. Already Misa, Light and Scab had written my name in their Death Notes, (some more than once, those jerks) and each time I survived. I was the Superman of the Death Note world, deflecting strokes of a pen like speeding bullets!

I sat down in a huff on the sofa, twirling a strand of my dark hair between my fingers. "Come on, L, I'm _useful. _I can help with the investigation. Put me out there, we can catch Kira together!"

L didn't meet my eyes, but started scraping bits of chocolate from the plate with his fork. "Unacceptable. You may have forcibly thrown yourself into the team, Miss Ella, but you are still a civilian. I will not . . ." He frowned, troubled ". . . _use _you. Do you understand?"

I smiled coyly, leaning forward in my seat. "You make it sound like I'm asking you to tie me to a post and put a flashing neon sign that reads 'LIVE BAIT' above my head. I just want to be involved, that's all! You _need _me to solve this case." I pleaded.

"Absolutely not. I did warn you, Miss Ella. It is time to face the consequences of your behaviour. If I cannot control you, then I will put you in a place that will. You start tomorrow." He stood up and carried his plate and fork to the kitchenette.

I turned and kneeled in my seat, looking over the back of the sofa, perplexed. "Start where . . . ?" I asked slowly. _I don't like where this is going. _

"Hibiya High School, one of the best secondary educational facilities in Tokyo. You will be late in the semester, but I am confident you will make do." L placed his dishes in the sink and strolled around the corner, whistling. "I expect daily reports of homework and tests, of course." He called from over his shoulder. "And I took the initiative to sign you up for their annual play. Oh, also," He peeked around the corner, as if on second thought, "your uniform is sitting on your bed, ready to go for the morning." He disappeared again.

I blinked, then leapt over the back of the sofa and ran after him. "You did WHAT?"

**On an Inter-Galactic Golf Course, Located on the Remains of an Asteroid Belt Many Light Years Away**

"FOUR!" Jerry shouted, swinging his club with cocky ease. He shielded his eyes from the sunlight reflecting off the ice fields that floated around a stationary planet in the 74th century – in the Dancing Dwarves System. The gravity ball zipped down the oxygen sealed tubes and landed on the next asteroid, rolling to a steady stop on the green, a few inches away from the glowing flagged hole.

Jerry high-fived his furry golfing buddy in the trunk (a species evolved from prehistoric anteaters) and packed up his clubs. He wore a 20th century outfit custom for golfing, including diamond patterned socks, short stockings, shined shoes, a sweater vest and a flat cap. The cap sat awkwardly on his dreads, but fashioned his feather, which drifted in the artificial breeze.

A loud POP sounded in his left ear, and familiar cackling erupted. "What are you _wearing_?" The voice asked, giggling with abandon.

Jerry sighed and nodded his anteater friend ahead, saying he'll catch up with him. "Don't you have sewers to bathe in, Scab?" He asked, sighing.

Scab nearly doubled over (and for him that meant his spine snapping in half). "Even for a human those socks are stupid!" He pointed, sniggering.

Jerry tapped his club in the palm of his hand, mulling over the possibility of using Scab's skull for a hole in one.

Scab controlled himself, but continued to snort every so often. "I came to tell you – I'm winning this game."

Jerry spun his club in a cavalier manner, testing its weight. "Is that so?"

Scab wiped a sticky glob of dripping snot from his nasal cavity. "Your pawn is about to be kicked off the board, old man."

Jerry prodded the earth with the club absentmindedly. "You and I both know she's impervious to your notebooks. Unless she's in her own time, her own world, you can't touch her."

"Maybe not a _notebook, _Jerry. Or did you forget to tell her that?"

Jerry paused, then spoke slowly, meaningfully. "I mentioned she could die like an ordinary human, back in no man's land." Jerry stared at the ground, sullen, "I also told her of the loophole, of giving up her traveller's status. But . . ."

"You wiped her memory of it, you sneaky gatekeeper you," Scab finished, thoroughly enjoying himself. "Way to rid yourself of your guilt, pretend you've done the right thing, and keep her ignorant at the same time." Scab continued, his elatedness glowing more and more as Jerry seemed to shrink a few inches shorter with each word. "You tell every newbie the same thing – they can't die. I can see how well _that's _worked out thus far. How many did you lose in the Dragon universe? Fifteen? Or was it fifty?"

Jerry swung his club, but Scab ducked. "It's not your business what I discuss with new travellers." Jerry said, his feather drooping, as if sensing his mood.

"Oh, I already know _why _you do it, Jerry. You lie to them to keep them happy, keep them working. You make sure they see you as their protector, that they'd do anything for you. But this time it's different. _She's _different. She'll figure it out, Jerry, if she doesn't die first, and that's looking more and more likely as of late."

Jerry didn't reply, instead he looked up at the stars. His eyes reflected the tiny white dots, swirling chaotically above. "Your notebooks are instruments of fate," he said softly, "I didn't lie. Travellers are wild cards, they aren't affected _by _fate,they walk between its lines. They don't grow older, their bodies remain suspended, and they can't be killed by Shinigami or your subordinates. You and I are perfect examples."

"But everything else is fair game." Scab summed up. He shook his head, his forked tongue tutting against his large, square teeth. "All those innocent fan girls you've brought into stories. All lost, left behind, pushing up daisies – you're just as bad as we Shinigami, only you _lie _to your victims. We at least admit we're monsters – in the human sense."

"I'm not a monster." Jerry whispered.

"Oh yes you are, Jerry. And you're the worst one. I can't wait to see the look on the girl's face right before she dies, that _betrayal. _It's priceless," he said giddily.

"Did you come here just to gloat?"

"No, I came _mostly _to gloat. I also bring a message from the King."

"Give him my usual response, Scab. I don't associate with soul eaters." Jerry said, resting his club on his shoulder.

"Fine," Scab stuck out his tongue, which was covered in rotting bits of mould, "don't come crying to me when time and space turns upside down." And with another POP, he was gone.

Jerry sighed and looked at his reflection in the crystallized bubble that surrounded his asteroid. _I'm a . . . monster?_

**Hotel Room, Early Morning**

"I hate you, L." I said grumpily, my shoulders slumped.

"I think it looks very flattering."

"As much as I think bowties are cool, L" (if you got that reference, you're my new best friend) I tugged at my collar; the fuzzy sweater making my neck itchy, "Nobody looks good in _this_."

I stood, in all my glory, in a traditional Japanese schoolgirl outfit (hold the whistles). I pulled at my short grey skirt, trying to lengthen it. Complete with a blue sweater vest, white dress shirt, knee high socks and the ugliest, largest, yellow and red bowtie I have ever seen in my life. My hair, recently brushed, was kept back in a loose bun, and slung on my shoulder was a brand new book bag. _I look so . . . shojo. _I made a face.

Birds tweeted just outside the small row of windows, signalling the start of the day. Cyclists rang their bells, cars honked and a steadily rising cloud of smog made its way through the streets.

I had argued with L most of last night until my voice became hoarse. In my world I saw school as a waste of time, I doubted it would be different here. The political workings in a high school, the sociality, all the stereotypes – all true. I preferred my lonely, thrilling pick pocketing occupation compared to (bloody) _fractions. _I had gone through twelve schools in New York alone, and teachers feared getting stuck with me. Once, when our English class was studying Romeo and Juliet, I sabotaged the mock screen-reading using hot glue, a tape recorder and a bucket of cafeteria casserole soup (I didn't even get a mark for creativity).

"Watari will drive you. Ah, and this. . ." L pulled out a small, red rectangle from his pocket, "is for you."

I held the standard sized flip-phone in my hands, opening and closing it, listening to the digital toll as it turned on and off. "Wow, thanks, L. I can't wait to run up the minutes—I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

"That is for emergencies." L looked down at me, speaking with a serious tone, "call if you need help. An officer will not be far away, I promise."

I blushed. "Worried about me already?"

L paused, then turned and strolled over to his computer, airing away my comment with a wave of his hand. "It is standard procedure."

"Right." _Suuure. _I adjusted my shoulder bag and pocketed the cell phone. "Well, I guess I'll be on my way." I waited, hoping L would suddenly change his mind and ask me to stay with him – but he didn't. He made his nest in front of his laptop and didn't make further eye contact.

"Um, L? What about shoes?"

"Check with Watari at the car, he has some for you."

_You're being so cold, L. _"L. . ." I said, my voice sounding small, "I'm . . . sorry. I just wanted to help."

L sat solemnly for several seconds. Finally, he said "I know."

Little was I aware, just after I turned to leave, that L's eyes followed me go.

Once the door shut, L speed dialled Watari. "Miss Ella is on her way downstairs."

"_Very good, sir."_

". . ."

"_Is something wrong, sir?"_

"No, never mind." L hung up, silently brooding as he stared blankly at his computer screen. The bird calls outside felt hollow and the hotel seemed strangely quiet. Never before had a room felt so empty. L sighed, and covered his eyes with his hand, welcoming the feeling of cool skin. He wondered if he was catching a fever. _What did you do to me, Sydney? _

**Downstairs**

I hurried over to Watari. Traffic speeded by as the sun rose above the office buildings, and an ice-cream peddler rolled past, ringing his bell. The buffed silver and black finish of L's car gleamed in the morning light, accenting the sleek design of the rims and hood. "'Morning," I said gloomily, and tossed my bag in the back seat.

Watari shut the door behind me and started the car with a healthy ChugaChugaWhirrrrrr. "Ah, before we depart, don't let me forget." He reached in the passenger seat and lifted up a simple, white box. He handed it to me over the seat. "From Ryuzaki."

I opened the lid. Inside was a pair of the most expensive looking, ruby red slippers I ever laid eyes on. The toe curved down to form an elegant, attractive curve. The lip was accented with crisscrossing gold-buckled straps (real gold too, trust me, I've stolen enough jewellery to tell), and the bottoms were signed by a French brand name in curvy, loopy letters. Speechless, I started to slip one on, but my toe jammed. I inspected the shoe and found a tiny, folded note inside.

Carefully, I opened it.

_Dear Ella, _

_These are for you, so that when you inevitably run off and disobey my orders, at least your feet will be safe._

_Ryuzaki_

I folded the letter again and tucked it safely into my breast pocket, close to my heart. I put on the shoes, not surprised that they were a perfect fit. I clapped the heels together three times and made a wish.

The wish I made?

Shh. It's a secret.

_End of Chapter 20_

I know it's been two months, but I've been busy writing my book! (40,000 words in, woot). As always, I love reading your reviews, so write down your thoughts if you get a chance (hold nothing back!) :)

~ Satchelle


	21. First Day of School

**Chapter 21**

**Hibiya High School**

I backed into the janitor's closet, reaching behind me for anything, anything at all, that I could use to defend myself with. The smell of carpet cleaner and bleach filled my nose, and I watched with increasing apprehension as my assailant lumbered ever closer.

I wrapped my fingers around a mop, holding it tightly. The pain in my arm where he cut me stung with every beat of my heart, and my vision swooned, but I managed to keep steady. With a shout, I swung it out in front of me, jabbing the attacker in the stomach.

He keeled over, holding his middle and gasping in pain, but it didn't last long. Enraged, he raised his knife, and I held up my mop like a wounded gladiator facing a hungry lion, feeling the hair's of panic lift on the back of my neck.

"Listen, if you want to kill me, do it tomorrow! I have a date tonight!"

**Earlier in the Week**

I told Watari to park a block away from school, not wanting an expensive town car to be my first impression (there's a method to building up a reputation, you know). By the time he pulled over I had untied my bowtie and used it to keep my hair back, wrapped my sweater vest around my waist and unbuttoned a few buttons on my dress shirt. Normally I preferred walking barefoot, but this time I left my brand new shoes untouched.

I leaned over the front seat. "Watari? Aren't I a wanted criminal? How can I go to school when my face is all over the news?" I asked in one last attempt to avoid the teenage hell that is 'education'.

I could see Watari scrunching his nose in the mirror, wriggling his moustache after a fly had landed on it. "We sent out numerous broadcasts depicting you as a misunderstood victim in recent events, and forced a formal written apology from the department that has been trying to arrest you." He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "You have a 'clean slate', as they say."

_I bet the investigator loved writing that one._ I thought, grinning at the idea of the temperamental gorilla-man punching keys on his computer, all the while muttering curse words to himself.

I sighed inwardly, but thanked Watari and walked the rest of the way to school. The neighbourhood was residential, bursting with houses and apartment buildings. Laundry hung out on balconies, puddles lay in back alley rivets like mirrors, and the streets were so narrow it was a wonder vehicles could fit at all. There were plenty of trees that provided cool shade along the sidewalk, and slowly I fell in step with other students who chatted or texted on their way to school. The high school itself was a large, simple rectangular structure made of a rusty red brick, stacked together like Lego. The colour made it look as though it had suffered a terrible sunburn, or perhaps a rash. It was surrounded by a high wall, riddled with several open iron gates. The closer I approached, the more I felt as if I was willingly entering a prison block. On the wall was a bronze sign, depicting three words: Discipline, Perseverance, Achievement.

I rolled my eyes. More like: Dull, Punishment, Aggravation.

I considered several times to turn around and wander the city instead, like I did back home. But each time it crossed my mind I would catch sight of my ruby red slippers, mumble something about bribes and trickery, and trek on. As my natural instincts went to war with what little conscience I still possessed (microscopic), I heard a familiar, yet frightening, word be shouted out.

"Sydney?"

I turned around, my skin growing cold. Immune to the big bad Grim I may be, but in this world your name was your lifeline – let it fall into the wrong hands and you'll find yourself winding up in the local obituaries.

I frowned, squinting at the person. It was a short girl, with big, round frameless glasses and an overflowing book bag. She had a flat, smooth face and narrow, black eyes with long lashes. She wore the same uniform as myself (except hers followed regulations). Two pencils held her dark, shiny hair in a bun on the top of her head, which was streaked with a single line of bright pink. She smiled, her matching pink braces glittering in the light. "It is me, Mei! Do you remember?" She bowed her head in a friendly greeting.

My eyes widened. "Oh yeah! But you had blue hair back then, didn't you?" (Ha. Bet you didn't think I'd ever bring THAT character back. All in the grand design, my friends).

She tilted her head, impressed. "Your Japanese is very good! Have you been studying for long?" She strode next to me, her step slightly off kilter because of the weight of her bag. I saw her glance at the bow in my hair and my unbuttoned shirt, but any opinions, if she had them, she kept to herself.

I laughed nervously, scratching the back of my head modestly. "You have no idea, Mei. Oh, and if you don't mind, could you call me Ella from now on?"

She blinked, perplexed, but didn't question it. "What is your first class?"

"Uhhh..."

"You're not prepared?" She exclaimed.

"Err..."

Mei nodded her head rightly, fixed her bowtie and adjusted her glasses. "Don't worry, I will be your guide!" She proclaimed.

Mei pressed her hand on my back and wheeled me forward, describing in my ear all the different classes, teachers, awards, demerits and lunch breaks with enthusiastic gusto (and at a speed unheard of in human speech). Before I could open my mouth to protest, we had already raced through the iron gates. I looked over my shoulder as I stumbled forward, watching my last chance for hooky close shut with a foreboding CLANK.

We quickly found out we shared most of our classes together, and Mei smartly and efficiently guided me to Arithmetic (who calls it that now a days?)

**Arithmetic**

Ugh, why is it always fractions? I stared at my paper, chewing dents into my pencil as the numbers in the page swirled around like a chaotic, mathematic whirlpool of brain-pain. Adding and subtracting are easy, I do _that _all the time: One purse from a Tiffany's frequenter plus one wallet from the Trump building equals the cost of one small motorcycle. One small motorcycle minus one legal licence plate equals one trip to a concrete cell. Simple. But fractions...

My pencil snapped in half.

I spat out the two pieces and turned the page over, as if the paper had personally offended me. With a sigh I leaned back in my chair, placing my hands behind my head. The chair teetered dangerously back, but I stuck my heel on the rim of my desk compartment. I studied the shine of my brand new shoes, admiring the dark lipstick colour and the sheen of the gold buckles. These were probably the nicest things I've ever owned, certainly the nicest gifts I've ever had (not including the diamond heart-necklace from Mikal for my birthday).

"Miss K-K-Krispy, was it-t-t?"

I looked up.

My math teacher was a tall man, nice dark hair, mid thirties, who spoke with a bit of a stutter. He often touched his face or adjusted his tie nervously, causing him to be covered in spots of white chalk.

"Yes?" I asked, tapping my foot on my desk, beaming when I realized I could see my reflection in the toe of my shoe.

"Y-Y-You should d-d-do your w-w-w-work, if you w-want. N-no rush or anyth-th-thing!" I said, laughing, waving his hands in the air.

_Is he afraid of me?_ I wondered, but felt pleased at the thought. I _wonder if I looked like I belong to a gang or something? Must be the bullet hole in my ear…_ "Uh, well you see, I have this problem."

He leaned forward, wringing his hands together, curious. "P-p-perhaps I can help w-w-with th-that."

I placed my hands on the desk matter-of-factly. "Well, you see, whenever I try and do homework, I have this uncontrollable urge to grab the nearest teacher and flush their head in a toilet. The doctor's say there is no cure."

The math teacher fiddled with his hair anxiously. "Well th-then…" he paused, his eyes moving back and forth, looking anywhere but at me, "you t-t-take your time." He said, and tottered off, looking over his shoulder at me every so often, as if I was about to jump him.

The morning pretty much followed that routine. Geography was interesting, run by a large, quiet man who mostly kept to himself, letting the students independently study their textbooks. He was a brand new teacher, balding in the head, but his arms reminded me of a gorilla. He looked more like a body builder than a professor. I doodled in my textbook the entire period, destroying it with (very artistic) pen-graffiti. After that came biology, and it looked like I got lucky: dissection day.

I'm not one of those save-the-animals-vegan-lets-all-get-along-and-hold-hands students who organize protests and boycotts. No, no. When a class involves something actually COOL for a change (like slicing open a well known amphibian with a talent for hopping) I dive right in. Over years of skipping class, I've never actually had the opportunity to participate in a group dissection, and I was eager to do so. I tied my smock around my waist and snapped on my gloves. I tested the sharpness of my scalpel, holding it up in the light.

Many of the other girls held back, or squealed when they made their first cut – with the worthy exception of Mei, who was busy taking notes after professionally slicing open her frog like a Subway Sandwich Artist. Most of the guys laughed and pointed out which gut pile was more disgusting (some stereotypes are true, people). I inspected the frog, whose limbs were spread eagle, pinned to a thin piece of cork board. My specimen's tongue stuck out slightly, and it smelled like grass and fish.

The teacher's, a mousy woman with bad breath and wearing a mauve sweater that made her look like a purple pumpkin, and students' words faded into the background as I pressed the knife into the soft skin of the frog. I was surprised at how easily the flesh gave way to my knife, like slightly stale butter. The guts burst out and oozed down the tiny body in a puddle of plasma, and the pink tongue unrolled from the movement. _Strange._ I thought. _How we're all just bags of meat and bones—_

I gasped. A flash of red. A cackle. A sadistic, crazed voice whispered in my ear and sharp, warm hands grabbed my shoulders and shook them. _"You see? That's all they were. Just bags of meat and bones and blood and guts! Look! Isn't it beautiful? Why are you crying, Sydney? I thought you wanted to see your parents? Come here! I'll let you hold mommy's liver."_

I fainted.

**The Nurse's Office**

I blinked away the white light that pierced between my lashes like pale needles. Groaning, I held my head and sat up, wondering why I had such a headache.

"Thank goodness you're alright!" Mei sat next to me, textbook open in her lap, looking fretful. Beside her sat a familiar looking boy with rosebud-red hair that spiked in one direction and several silver piercing. He rolled back and forth in his wheelchair, his dark eyes mildly concerned.

"Donovan?" I asked slowly, "the waiter from the cafe?"

The boy snapped his fingers. "Correct, mate."

I blushed, remembering impulsively kissing him. It wasn't every day someone correctly guessed my Canadian lineage (it's a BIG deal). "What are you doing here? Actually…" I looked around at the extremely clean, recently painted medical office, "what am I doing here?"

"I," Donovan started, fixing the anti-gravityness of his hair, "am an exchange student here at Hibiya. I saw them carrying you out of the classroom and thought I'd help out. I wheeled you to the Nurse's office myself." He said proudly.

"You're so kind, Donovan," Mei said, smiling softly as she forced her eyes to focus on her textbook. She sat up very straight, seeming on edge next to Donovan. I caught her glancing his way several times, her cheeks tinged with pink.

"Okay from what?" I asked.

Mei bit her lip. "Sy—um, _Ella, _well, when you cut open the frog, you…fainted."

I laughed. "You're wrong. I couldn't have fainted. That frog was as good as French cuisine." _This is absurd. I've never been squeamish._ I once took care of an entire colony of cockroaches in my apartment (THAT was a fun weekend). _No way would a dead frog make me faint._

Donovan scratched his head. "The students say you wouldn't stop mumbling something about meat and bones…"

I paled, feeling my chest tighten as an echo of a memory whispered in my ear once again, like a haunting poltergeist floating beside me. I avoided eye contact and hid my shaking hands under the sheets. "Is that so…?"

Mei suddenly stood up. "Lunch is about to start, my apologies, but I have study group to attend." She bowed to me and Donovan (her bow to Donovan lasting a little longer) and hurried out the door.

"So I guess it's just you and me, Roly-Poly."

Donovan's lip-ring jiggled as he spoke "You certainly don't feel the need to be politically correct."

"Excellent observation there, Hot Wheels. Do you do described video too?"

"I'd say she's fully recovered, Nurse!" He called out over his shoulder, but I could tell he was silently laughing.

I threw back the covers and hopped out of bed, taking a moment to adjust my short skirt. "So, are you going to show me to the cafeteria, or should I escort myself?"

He rolled over to the door, pulled it open and rolled to the side, gesturing me through.

I pretended to curtsy and Donovan followed me out, easily keeping pace with me. "So, what brings a Canadian to this side of the pond?"

"Well, I got tired of living in my igloo and riding my polar bear to school—"

He laughed.

"How about you, Hot Wheels?" I asked, tightening the sweater vest around my waist.

"I'm from England, my father is here on business. He sells property."

"Sounds boring." We entered the Cafeteria and a vacuum of noise sucked us in. The crowded space was filled with card-playing students, gambling students, studying students, and gossiping students. All the bottled up tension acquired in class was released in this room all at once, like an explosion of adolescent hormones.

When we came to the line up, it had already wound halfway around the room's perimeter. Donovan sighed. "And they're serving cheesecake for dessert today too. Looks like they'll be out before I get there again." He patted his wheels affectionately. "These babies are top notch, but the elevator always slows me down. I haven't tasted dessert in a month!"

I paused, thoughtful, then waved my arms in a criss-crossing motion. "Make way, make way!" I shouted as I pushed past the rest of the students. Whenever I would receive a scathing look, I'd just point to Donovan, who rolled after me, astounded, and say "handicap privileges" with a shrug.

We were seated with steaming lunches and two gigantic slices of cake within minutes.

"You're," Donovan started, digging into his cake first.

"Magnificent? Incredible? Amazing? May I add stunning?"

"Unbelievable," he finished. Donovan watched me stuff my face (although with difficulty, I have never been able to master the art of chopsticks, and am stuck with using them to stab and skewer my food), his expression searching. "What's your deal, Ella?"

"Whaff dewy ew mewn?" I asked through a mouthful.

"You're not…like other girls. You treat me…"

"Like a normal person?"

Donovan fell into silence.

I waved my chopsticks at him. "Sorry to break it to you, Hot Wheels, but you're not special because you can park closer to the mini mart."

He hung his head, his face red.

I smiled. "You're special because you're you."

Donovan looked up, blinking, and found himself once again unable to articulate a sentence. _She's…wow._

"Hey, new girl!"

Standing next to our table, hand on her hip, was a girl covered in so much make up I couldn't tell what she really looked like. She had fake eyelashes, sparkly green eye shadow, bleached blond hair carefully curled and tucked back and the longest, stick-on nails I've ever seen. The hem of her skirt was rolled up, making it shorter than short, and it was extremely obvious (to me, I dunno, I guess it's a chick thing) that she was wearing a water-bra.

"You can't sit here, this is _our _table." Her gang nodded behind her, all posing with their arms crossed. She smiled sweetly, placing her hands on her knees and leaning forward to Donovan's height. "Don't worry, Donovan, _you _can sit here whenever you want. Just not _her_." She flicked me a look that suggested I had just crawled out of a sewer, fermented in her fridge for three months then dipped myself in a vat of worms.

_Why is this turning into some sort of Shojo, romantic, slice of life manga? This is DEATH NOTE. _I thought, wishing I could convey how heavy those words were to this idiot.Regardless, I felt a bubble of anger float into my stomach.Slowly, I stood, sizing each girl up. The leader was shorter than me (ha), but she looked up with cool irritation. "We've seen you on TV, you're a criminal." She said. "It's only a matter of time before Kira takes care of you."

"I was proven innocent of those crimes."

The girl rolled her eyes. "What-EVER. I'm not associating with a potential psychopath." She waved her hand at me, gesturing for me to 'shoo', like a fly.

The muscle in my brow twitched.

Now, I pride myself in my patience and understa—The piece of cheesecake landed RIGHT between her eyes. (High fives anyone?)

The Cafeteria quieted.

Squealing and stomping her feet, the girl flicked the gooey mesh from her face.

I exchanged a look with Donovan. We both ducked right before someone shouted "FOOD FIGHT!"

**Several Avoidance Manoeuvres Later**

I pushed Donovan out the back door, laughing and pulling bits of noodle from my hair. It was full out war behind us. Students, normally forced to restrain themselves in school, let themselves go. Laughing and screaming, food and drinks flew across the room like projectile missiles. They had already made forts out of tables and chairs, and the teachers tried and failed to stop them (and left covered head to toe in the aftermath of ketchup packets).

The yard was well maintained. Along the path stood bronze statues on concrete pedestals of school founders or important leaders and 'role models'. We passed a few students studying at picnic tables, who looked at the food in our hair and on our clothes with odd expressions, but once we reached the garden we were alone. Hedges taller than myself spread along either side of the path, spiralling or crisscrossing in a maze-like pattern. Bumblebees floated lazily from flower to flower, and a newly hatched nest of baby birds squawked for their mother.

An orange butterfly fluttered between us, circling Donovan before flying to the nearest wall-vine. I brushed crumbs from my skirt. "Who was that girl anyways?" I asked in a huff.

Donovan wheeled around and started rolling backwards along the winding path, so that he could see me properly. "Her name is Kamiko Namikawa. Her father works on the school board. I'd be careful if I were you, kids she doesn't like have been known to be expelled – or worse."

I perked up. "Really?"

He laughed. "You look like you _want _to get kicked out!"

I shrugged. "Is she always like that?"

"Pretty much." Donovan wheeled in casual, wide motions, weaving back and forth along the path. "So um . . . Ella. . ."

"Yes?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks streaked with lines of red, but I could tell he was trying his hardest to appear laid-back. "Well, you see, my father owns this baseball stadium here in Tokyo, so I always have free tickets. I was wondering if you—"

"Hey! You there! Stop right this minute!" A muscled woman with a strong jaw and green eyes (odd for her nationality) ran towards us. She grabbed my arm before I could bolt. "The Dean's office, immediately." She spared Donovan a glance, and she smiled with the same sweetness most women did when speaking to him, as if he was a toddler. "Not you, my dear, just the girl."

I looked over my shoulder and saw a forlorn looking Donovan grow smaller and smaller, left to wonder what it was he was going to ask me.

**The Principal's Office**

"Discipline, Perseverance, Achievement." The man said, arms behind his back, pacing. "You, Miss Krispy, lack an understanding of all three."

The Dean was an aged man, with long white hair slicked back and a large, bristly moustache that hid his mouth. His eyes were small, but bright with youthful intelligence, and he wore a dark blue blazer. His desk was neat and tidy, and he proudly displayed a picture frame of four smiling grandchildren. "In these uncertain times, we must work together in order to prosper."

I leaned forward in my seat. "Are you going to expel me?" I asked eagerly.

"Miss Krispy, you have been highly recommended, and come with an excellent academic history."

I rolled my eyes. L must have faked my documents.

"I understand that these recent TV reports have you acting out, but this behaviour must stop." He looked me in the eye. "It WILL stop." His secretary poked her head into his office and he excused himself for a moment.

When he came back, he gave me leave to go. I bowed, held in my laughter as long as possible, and raced down the hallway. I heard a cry of outrage behind me and quickly slipped around the corner and on to my next class.

**English**

"You did WHAT to the Dean's computer?" Mei shouted, shocked.

"When he wasn't looking I rigged it so that every time he pushed the enter key, a series of . . . _explicit _websites would pop up." I sniggered. "I did the same thing to my last principal. I was in detention for two months," I sighed fondly at the memory, "so worth it."

English was _extremely _boring. I had no trouble switching between the languages, and even tossed in a bit of French for good measure. The teacher, a thin woman with pointy features, called me her star student (which I consider a severe insult). After that I kept my mouth shut and stared out the window most of class. I leaned back in my chair, letting the warm sunlight drift over my skin. I felt my eyes begin to flutter close.

Just I was sinking into the comforting depths of an afternoon nap, something buzzed to life in my pocket. RING-RING! RING-RING!

Startled, I sat back in my already dangerously balanced chair, and it tipped over. With a cry I slammed to the floor, legs in the air, hair sprawled out around me. I blinked, gasping to regain the wind that was knocked out of me, and scrambled for my phone. Still wheezing, I flipped open the device. A text message from a contact named 'Ryuzaki' popped up.

_Wake up, Miss Ella. You need to study, there is a test tomorrow._

I jumped to my feet, looking wildly around the room for L.

"Miss Krispy," the teacher said, "phones are strictly prohibited."

I realized the entire class was staring at me. "Uh, I only use it for emergencies. My…uh, grandmother, she's in the hospital." I gestured to the door. "Do you mind…?"

"Not at all," the bony teacher said and ushered me quickly out of the room.

I hurried around the corner and flipped open the phone, dialling L's number.

"_Yes, Miss Ella?"_

"You're SPYING on me?" I whispered harshly, furious. "I thought we agreed—"

"_No more cameras in your room, Miss Ella. We never discussed the school."_

"You sneaky little—Have you been watching me all day?"

"_Yes. How you interact in your natural environment is very informative, Miss Ella. I have learned a lot about you in less than a day than I have since you have arrived."_

My grip on the phone tightened. _So he saw the Dean's office, the food fight, Donovan, Mei, even when I fainted!_ Here I thought L was trying to protect me, keep me away from the Kira investigation for my own safety. . . I looked down at my new shoes with anger. _I thought maybe he. . . _Now I find out it was just another experiment!

"_Miss Ella…"_

"What?" I asked, my voice callous.

"…"

"What?" I asked again, this time my voice gentle.

"_Nothing. Never mind."_

"No, hold on! Tell me!" _Maybe I got it wrong._ I thought. _Maybe he installed the cameras because he WANTED to keep me safe. Or maybe he . . . is it possible he missed me?_

There was a buzzing silence for a minute, and then I heard L clear his throat. _" . . . Do you like your shoes?"_

In that instant, like the tender ebb of a tide's pull, all my anger washed away. "Yes," I said quietly, "thank you."

Knowing the period was almost over, I wandered to my next class, lost in my own thoughts. L had done nothing but surprise me during this whole adventure. He was so hard to read!

"Hey, new girl!"

My head snapped up.

It was Kimiko and her gang, standing with all the rage of the Underworld's Furies. Stains of cheesecake covered her blouse, and the extensions in her hair were tangled to the point of no repair. Behind them was a group of boys (I'm assuming their brainless, zombie boyfriends) who did their best to appear menacing.

I'm no chicken, but I'm also not stupid. Eight to one were unfair odds for anyone.

So, shamelessly and without regrets, I ran.

I didn't get far.

One girl grabbed my hair and the other two boys held my arms behind my back. They dragged me around the back of the school to the garden, where tall hedges and walls deterred witnesses. The first punch was to my stomach, the second my shoulder. I could tell they had done this before, because they were clever enough to only hit me in places covered by clothing. I kicked and struggled, but it only resulted in the one guy slapping me across the face, cutting my lip and bruising my eye. For the most part, I took my beating silently, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Compared to my uncle, these guys were weak, but unlike my uncle they didn't stop after one or two. One girl tugged the bow from my hair and squashed it beneath her foot in puddle of mud, another tore my sweater in two.

But then they went for the shoes.

Kimiko had been standing back the entire time, obviously too important to get her hands dirty, but she had been shouting out orders and goading her friends on. Now she held my red shoes up, a look of malice crossing her face.

"No!" I screamed, trying to kick Kimiko viscously in the face, but she merely stepped back, out of range.

The boys held me against the wall as I cursed every foul word I knew (it's a long list). Kimiko casually strode over to the trickling koi pond. The orange and white fish darted out of sight as her shadow fell over their habitat. She glanced at me with her nose in the air, eyelids half open, as if I should have known this would be the outcome. With a loud RIP she tore the soles from the shoes and tossed the broken pieces into the water.

The boys dropped me to the ground, where I scrambled to the pond and reached in, trying to grab them. Kimiko raised her foot and pushed me in. I flailed in the water, sputtering and she laughed cruelly. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she snapped her fingers and they walked away. Sniffing and wiping the blood from my lip, I picked up the ruined remnants of L's gift.

I didn't attend my final class, which was gym. I walked sadly through the school, leaving wet puddles in my wake. My clothes squished and squashed as I walked, staring solemnly at the floor and cradling the shoes in my arms. Students and teachers poked their heads out of their classrooms, whispering. Donovan and Mei tried to talk to me, but I ignored them. My eyes were teary, but I didn't let myself cry until I was outside, around the block and closing in on Watari's car.

The old man didn't look at me, but he opened the passenger door and I slid inside.

"L?"

To my surprise, L was sitting in the seat next to me. I felt more tears well up in the corners of my eyes, and I looked away. "L . . . I'm sorry, the shoes. . ." I held them up for him to see.

Without a word, L cast the broken shoes to the floor, wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly to his chest. He placed his chin on my head, and I melted into his warmth. I closed my eyes and let my breathing even out. Watari kept glancing back at us through the rear-view mirror, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

L didn't release his hug for the entire ride home.

_End of Chapter 21_

Satchelle's busy life: Moving out of my parents' house in three days, in one week I'll be taking a two week vacation to Europe, and when I get back its Graduation and Prom (I'm exhausted already). To all my peeps across the pond, between May 21st and June 4th I'll be in York, Whales, London, Dublin and we'll be visiting Stonehenge too. SO, if you see a bottled red head looking lost next to an extremely short old lady (my grandmother), come say hello!

PS: Sydney's theme song, anyone? XD


	22. Red Room

**Chapter 22**

"Let me out of this hotel room! I didn't do anything wrong! This is kidnapping! I'll sue you for this! I said let me go you creepy, panda-faced hedgehog!"

L swivelled back in forth in his computer chair, completely ignoring the girl's cries of protest. He stared at the ceiling innocently, as if an invisible shield protected him from the girl's harsh (and not completely inaccurate) accusations. He stirred his coffee five and a quarter times clockwise, then four and a half times counterclockwise, then added a few more cubes of sugar and repeated the process. Only his toes curling and uncurling betrayed any sort of emotion, but that was lost in the high pitched squeals and foot stomping of his new captive. When he finally took a sip, the hot liquid slipped down his throat like a vengeful viper, and did little to ease his unrest.

Across the room from him sat an enraged teenage girl wearing an extensive (and expensive) amount of make-up. Her pale, bottle blonde hair appeared to give off its own light (like radiation), and her many bracelets jingled with each angry gesture of her arms. Despite her words, she wasn't being mistreated. Quite the opposite, in fact, L had already silently offered her a cup of chocolate mousse, which she refused after calling him a series of (creative) insulting nicknames. The only thing keeping her here was a solemn Aizawa standing guard just outside the door, who was inadvertently listening in on their conversation.

L let his coffee cup rest on his knee and finally looked the girl directly in the eye. Beneath his sudden gaze, she fell into an uncomfortable silence. "Do you know why you are here, Miss Namikawa?" He asked, his voice calm and indifferent, but the depths of his eyes was hypnotic, threatening that if she kept eye contact for too long, she would lose herself in him.

Kimiko shook her head, shrinking from the strange man's stare.

L took another sip, welcoming the warmth that spread to to his fingertips. "It does not take much to break a person, Miss Namikawa. I, for one, do not require any sort of physical assault to bring the strongest man to his knees." He tapped his sugar tongs to his temple. "Mental abuse is much more effective, I find."

"Where are you going with this, you freak? Are you even a police officer?"

L stood up and began to pace, in a hunched, sloth-like way. He waved his coffee casually in the air and strolled around the sofa. "When a person, let us say. . ." he mumbled, reaching for a miniature carrot cake on the table, "for instance, _you_," he leaned forward, whispering the word directly in her ear.

Kimiko gulped.

"Breaks the law," he continued to walk, taking a large bite from his snack, licking the icing from his lips with a malicious air, "they are charged. They are handcuffed, stripped, searched, forced to wear tacky _orange overalls-" _L flicked his eyes in her direction to assess her reaction.

Kimiko raised her hands to her mouth in horror.

"Locked in a cell until bail, then tried in court. All you will have left to look forward to is years in the same room, with the same three meals a day, and only an hour a day to see sunlight. There is no fun, no privacy, and your only rule to live by is to obey."

"I _told _you, I didn't do anything wrong."

"Ah-ha!" L leaped over the back of the sofa and landed like a cat on the cushion next to Kimiko, he shredded the rest of his carrot cake. As he leaned forward, invading her personal space, she leaned away, her eyes wide as she watched the crumbs fall from his lips. "That," he said, pointing his finger in the air, "is where you are wrong."

"Get to the point, pandaface!"

L stopped chewing and looked at her gravely. "You attacked Miss Ella."

Kimiko narrowed her eyes. "I should have known you'd be related that chick. Freaks stay in packs."

"I want to know why."

"Why? WHY?" Kimiko held her delicate, manicured nails to her chest and laughed. "She _insulted _me. Embarrassed me in front of EVERYONE." She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "That's just how we take care of dweebs who don't know their place at Hibiya. Consider it an initiation. If she thinks she's so hot, she has to prove herself first."

L sat back on the balls of his feet. "A territory instinct. . ." he muttered to himself, "The mere demented, abstract idea of ownership and status justified having her beaten?" He stood up, shaking his head, and started to walk away.

"Hey! I've put other kids through worse and they turned out fine!"

L stopped short. The cup tumbled from L's grasp and fell to the floor. Coffee puddled on the floor and the cup slowly rolled to a stop. L turned his head to the side. "You have just opened a psychological wound that may never heal again." His voice was deep and harsh, and made Kimiko wince. "Miss Ella is. . ." L's hand shook, "very important." He said quietly.

"Why do you care, anyway? You don't look like family. What are you supposed to be? Her guardian angel?"

"I am her-" L paused, deep in thought, but instead of finishing the sentence, he called Aizawa back into the room. "Take Miss Namikawa to the station."

"Wait, no wait! You were serious? Look, I can't go to jail! I was just accepted into College. My father won't allow this to happen." She struggled, but when Aizawa clipped the handcuffs on her hands, she hung her head and began to cry. "Please, I can't be a criminal. What about Kira? I don't want to die!"

L turned away, disregarding her sobs.

Chief Yagami walked passed Aizawa as he was guiding Kimiko to the door. "L, is this necessary? It was a first offence."

"Miss Namikawa has admitted to more than one act of violence." L picked his coffee cup from the floor. "Justice is not meant to be an easy path, Chief Yagami, but we all must face it."

"Hey, guys? What's going on?" Asked a tired voice.

Everyone in the room stopped to look. Ella, who had at some point been changed into a comfortable pair of red pajamas, was sleepily rubbing her eyes and yawning. Her face and hands were covered in scratches, and the sickly yellowing of a large bruise could be seen peeking out from her collar. A band-aid was placed above her brow and her one eye was surrounded by a purple halo.

"Miss Ella," L tossed his coffee cup into the kitchen sink, "We were just tying up some loose ends. You should go back to your room and rest."

Ella looked at L, then at the weeping Kimiko. A sequence of powerful emotions flooded Ella's face all at once at the sight of Kimiko. A flush of anger, a trickle of fear, a hint of embarrassment and a wave of sadness. "Oh, I see."

"I'm sorry!" Kimiko cried. She tore herself away from Aizawa's grasp and fell to her knees in front of Ella. "You can't let them do this. Please, my father is a powerful person. He can give you anything you want."

Ella inched away from Kimiko, who Aizawa picked up. She struggled and begged and screamed as Aizawa recited her rights. L stood on the other side of the room, staring out the window, and the Chief, although it pained him, kept his eyes on his feet.

Ella flinched with every plead that spewed from Kimiko's mouth, and finally, she plugged her ears and shouted "ENOUGH!"

Everyone froze.

Ella turned to L. "Ryuzaki," she said, her mouth trembling, but her chin strong, "I don't want to press charges against Kimiko."

L placed his hands behind his back. "We have video evidence, we do not need your consent. Opposed to contrary thought, this is not about you, but about justice. I would do the same whether you were involved or not."

Aizawa rolled his eyes and muttered "_sure," _under his breath, though no one noticed.

Ella moved towards L, stepping slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. Even though his emotions appeared in check, she had never seen L act so. . . vicious. And all on her behalf. "Please, you've scared her enough. She won't do it again." Ella placed a meek hand on L's shoulder, "I'm asking you to stop this. . ." Ella bit her lip. "For me."

L sighed. "Very well." He waved his hand, dismissing Aizawa. Aizawa unlocked her handcuffs and Kimiko once again dropped to her knees, hugging herself and crying quietly.

With a sideways glance at L, Ella hurried to Kimiko's side.

Kimiko sniffed. "What do you want?"

"Considering the circumstances, a 'thank you' would be appropriate."

"I get it," she said spitefully, wiping her nose, "you've got friends in high places. I won't mess with you again."

Ella sucked on the inside of her cheek. After making a split-decision, she grabbed Kimiko by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. "Kimiko," she said, her gaze steady, "I _forgive_ you."

Kimiko blinked, frowning.

Ella held her shoulders tighter. "Understand me, Kimiko, when I tell you that forgiving others is a vice. It is a terrible trait, an awful habit. Turning the other cheek is the unhealthiest thing a person can do. And even though I know you probably have learned nothing, and that you would do it again, I'm giving you a chance. Please, don't take my goodwill for granted."

Kimiko was somewhat confused and jaded by Ella's statement, but she nodded. Chief Yagami and Aizawa gently guided Kimiko away, who would be left to wonder how forgiving someone could be bad.

Ella fell back into the cushioned sofa, feeling exhausted already. Her body still sore and her mind in turmoil, she let her eyes close and sank back into sleep. L was about to leave the room, when he heard her mumble his name. Intrigued, he moved closer and sat on the armrest. Ella adjusted her position in her sleep, letting the back of her hand touch her forehead. _"L. . ." _She said again.

**Ella's Dream**

It was never exactly the same.

Sometimes I would be running down a tunnel, or flying through a storm, or balancing on a tightrope. Always trying to reach some sort of unseen goal, but I always fell short. In each case my destination would be warped, and somehow I ended up in front of a door. However, I hadn't had this dream for years, not since my days rotating between foster homes. And never, ever had I opened the door.

Until now.

This time I was racing down the stairs of my house. I was my current height and age, but I was wearing a kid's pajamas that were way too small for me. I stood in front of the door to my kitchen. It was painted a homely green, with one of those tacky, roadside-store signs hanging from the handle. Behind me was darkness, but I was loathe to touch the door and venture further. From the cracks a burning, crimson light pulsed. Moans and sobbing came from the other side of the wood, making me cringe with each cry for help. I tried to turn around, but found my feet stuck to the floor.

All of a sudden I could feel heat on my neck, as if someone was breathing heavily behind me. A hand held my hip and and pushed me forward. The door swung open. I screamed, but stopped short, unable to find my voice from the sheer horror. The room was not my kitchen, but a grand ball room. The walls dripped with red, and heads of victims stood on pikes or hung from the ceiling, candles flickered in their open, screaming mouths. Standing in the centre of the room was a man, his face shrouded in the shadow of his hair. He wore a tuxedo, and when I looked down I found myself now wearing an elegant, scarlet ballgown, dazzled in rubies. He took my hand and started to dance.

"Sydney Pennypocket." He kissed me on the cheek, as if greeting a long lost friend, but lingered below my ear. "The _special_ one." He whispered, and I shivered. "Do you like my decorations?" He gestured grandly at the heads and they started to laugh mechanically, their mouths opening and closing, making the candlelight blink radically.

I tore my hand from his, backing away. "Who are you? What am I doing here?"

Though his eyes remained hidden, I could see his mouth curve into a cruel, insane smile. "Hell, my dear. I've created one just for you."

As he said that a pair of two, distinct heads came into focus behind him. I fell backwards, scrambling to get away. "Mom, Dad. . ."

He grabbed my mother's head and began opening and closing her jaw, skipping and twirling and tossing her in the air. "Such fun they were! And you, Sydney, you were the sugar to my strawberry jam. So sweet, so sad. Your tears were _delicious._" He held onto my mother's hair, spun her like a bola, and threw her to the floor. She rolled to my feet, stopping upside down, her eyes two, empty black sockets, her skin sagging like wax.

I tried to stand, but my legs wobbled like jello. In a flash, the man was behind me, helping me to my feet, the same, giddy smile plastered on his face. I yanked my arm away from him, stumbling to the far reaches of the room. I pressed myself up against a marble pillar, breathing heavily. "What do you want from me?" I yelled, my voice echoing. I peeked around the pillar, but the man had disappeared. Fear crawled into my stomach. Suddenly, every flickering shadow and warped head became the mysterious man.

I slunk away from the pillar, treading slowly across the ballroom. "You can't scare me!" I shouted. "This isn't real, it's just a dream."

"Is it?" A voice, slithering like a snake, asked from behind me.

I jumped, but two strong hands held me in an unbreakable hug. I felt two fingers glide up to my neck, stroking it softly. "Oh, how glad I am I waited to spill your beautiful blood, Sydney. Or should I call you _Ella_ now?"

I stopped struggling and kicking, fear freezing my body. _Just a dream, just a dream. _

"So lucky," he said, breathing in the scent of my hair, "that Jerry found you and taught you to travel. Otherwise, we may never have met again."

_Jerry? Travel? Wait..._I felt a sudden rush of anxiety grip my heart. _Could this be another world? Like the one my mind went to when I died in the hospital? _

"Ah, you've figured it out, my dear Sydney." He chuckled. "Horrifying, isn't it?" He leaned forward, whispering in my ear as his fingers trailed along my collarbone and to my shoulder, "Your worst nightmare has come true, and no one is around to save you."

"I don't need someone else to save me." I said, jerking my body away from him. I faced him squarely. "I take care of myself."

"Is that so?" He stepped to the side. "Remember, Sydney, this is my world."

I squinted. From the shadows emerged a walking corpse, his body twitching as he moved. His limbs were stitched together, some were on backwards, some hanging only by threads. He opened his mouth and a drunken voice came out. _"Sydney! Get me another beer!"_

I felt my body shrink. "U-Uncle?"

"_You dumb brat! Where the hell is dinner? I work all day, put a roof over your ungrateful head and you can't even turn on the bloody stove?" _

I tried to back away from my Uncle's mutated body, but I tripped on the hem of my dress and fell over.

"_Damn it, the TV isn't working again. I knew you were unlucky. Well? Get over here and fix it!"_

"S-stop." I said, bringing my knees to my chest. I hid my face in my skirt. "Go away!" The shadow of my Uncle's body fell over me, and I curled up into a smaller ball. "Leave me alone!"

Then there was silence.

I felt two gentle hands pick me up. "Oh, Sydney, special, special, Sydney." The mystery man's voice said, cradling my body on the floor, rocking back and forth. "I only want to torture you, is that so terrible?"

My eyes shot open and I struggled when I saw the carving knife in his hand. The silver blade glinted in the light, as if it was on fire. He held me tightly, gripping my wrist. He ran the knife slowly across the palm of my hand. I gritted my teeth and cringed in pain as blood dripped down my arm.

He threw his head back and laughed. "You're just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside." He pressed his hand against my chest and pushed me to the floor, holding me there. He raised his knife high in the air, and finally I could see his eyes. They were delighted, as if we were merely enjoying a picnic. They glowed an evil red. "I wonder how big your heart is, Sydney! Care to find out?"

He brought the knife down.

But stopped.

The blurry image of another man stood behind him, he held his wrist, stopping him from giving the final blow. My attacker looked over his shoulder, and his pleasured expression contorted to one of undeniable fury. "YOU!" He shouted, enraged. "What are YOU doing here?"

I peeked out from behind my lashes, and felt my very breath be stolen from my body as I looked at my saviour. "_L_?"

**End of Ella's Dream**

I woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air.

I looked around the room wildly, and calmed when I realized I was back in the hotel room. The night had dragged all the comfort of light from the sky, only a few TV screens illuminated the room. My heart beat rapidly, as if trying to bash its way out of my chest. I sat up, rubbing my head from the sudden soreness in my temples. I looked to my left. L crouched on the cushion next to me, but his chin touched his chest and his eyes were closed. His breathing was deep and even, revealing that he was, in fact, asleep. He seemed almost innocent in his sleep, making him look years younger. Slowly, his eyes blinked open as he came to. "Sydney?" He mumbled.

I forced myself to appear normal, pushing my nightmare to the back of my mind. "Hello, sleepyhead."

He rubbed the dark circles beneath his eyes. "I had the strangest dream. . ." His eyes focused on me. "Sydney, your hand. . ."

I glanced down. My right hand was sliced open, right along the curve of my palm. I paled. "Funny," I laughed nervously, "must have happened when I was sleeping." My hands shook as I ran to grab a bandage. _Was it real? _

L ran his fingers through his hair. Yes,_ a strange dream indeed. . ._

Once L had preoccupied himself with his laptop, I sneaked out onto the balcony. I looked at the bandages, stained red, on my hand, then up into the stars. I closed my eyes and sighed.

"Warm night, isn't it, kiddo?" Out of nowhere, sitting on the edge of the balcony, smoking a cigarette and looking down into the yellow car lights below, was Jerry.

My expression hardened. I lifted my bloodied hand so he could see it. "We need to talk."

_End of Chapter 22_

A/N: Wow. Over 500 reviews. I just want to say how completely lucky I am to have such great readers. For one thing, a lot of your reviews are down right HILARIOUS (you're all geniuses), and often sweet. When I started writing this story, I did it just for fun, I didn't realize some of the themes (like bullying) would speak to so many people, and it makes me all the more determined to finish, turn it original and get it out there ('cause everyone needs to meet Sydney XD). Of course, this story will forever remain a tribute to L, one of my favourite characters of all time, and the injustice of his untimely demise. And I will always feel pleased thinking how a little bit of fangirl passion at the wrongness of a fav character's death resulted in such imaginative sparks. I give you guys props. Your feedback is super important to me and already I feel like we could be best friends. :)

Just a note from a humbled fanfic writer.

Forever your faithful fan,

Satchelle

PS: Probably won't be able to update until I get back from my trip, but I'll get back to it once I'm home again.


	23. Family Reunion

A/N: Hey guys, I survived Europe! Swam under a waterfall, climbed a mountain, chilled with sheep (what is with all the sheep, Europe?), stung by nettles, rode a double decker bus, went on The Eye of London, ate fish and chips everywhere I went, explored castles, stepped carefully around beached jellyfish, and enjoyed a nice whiskey (because I'm of age there hehe). Now I live on my own and am working on getting my computer to work (old piece of junk). For the record, the entire time I was gone I was able to check all your reviews and I want to say THANK YOU. Most of you guys are fantastic. Thanks to the CONSTRUCTIVE criticism as well, it does help (not really, but I know you're trying haha).

However.

If I hear ONE more person complain that my story is too original, doesn't have enough L, or otherwise starts whining because their self-indulgent fangirl needs are not being met, my head is going to explode. My writing is NOT out for hire. MY fanfic means MY way. (The plot is already planned out, it's not changing, not unless one of you guys hits me with inspiration like the hammer in Super Smash Brothers). You don't like it, write something better and post it yourself. (PS: If you guys have any fanfics, lemme know, I love reading your guys' stories. :) ) You know I love you guys, stop making me slam my head repeatedly and comically against my desk...please?

~Satchelle – the faintly frustrated, friendly fan.

PS: The reason I bring that up is because the following chapter takes creative licence to a WHOLE new level, and most of it is original, so if you're not a fan of my original chapters, you should skip this (your loss). But hey, you're anime fans, I know you can handle the weirdly bizarre and outrageously eccentric. Hold onto your seats and keep reading, things get freaky in Chapter 23.

**Chapter 23**

The night air was crisp but warm. A pale haze drifted around the balcony, the remnants from a Mediterranean restaurant's smokestack as they finished their dinner service for the evening. The smell left a tangy yet sweet taste on the tip of my tongue. It spoke in the calming accent of a faraway land, filled with smog, sandy streets and a thousand and one colours.

I stood with my hand outstretched, swallowing down the viscous bite of my wound as I spread my fingers wide. The ugly red stain ballooned across the white, fraying fabric of my bandages, like a mark of condemnation.

"Explain this." I demanded.

Jerry pulled an old, white cigarette from his lips, blew a few cloudy rings in the air and sighed. The cigarette burned a deep orange and the light flickered across his eyes like the racing blaze of a forest fire, first alive and roaring, then disappearing in a puff of grey ash. He sat on the edge of the railing, legs swinging like a child in an apple tree. He took off his hat, exposing the frizzy, flattened dreads on the peak of his scalp and began fiddling with the feather sewn into the criss-crossing straw. "I was afraid of this."

I took an imposing step forward. "Jerry, you said I couldn't get hurt here. You said-"

"I say a lot of things." He stood up, balancing on the thin rail of the balcony with ease, as if he weighed less than air. He could have emptied her memory again, but who knew what kind of brain damage a second session would do to her? He stuck his hands in his pockets, staring down at the street far below. _Can't be helped now._

"And now that I think about it," I continued, "the bullet hole in my ear hasn't healed yet either."

"And it never will." He started to whistle.

Realization cut through me like the deafening toll of funeral bells. "You mean this ENTIRE time I was putting MY life on the line?" I shouted, casting my hand out to the side in anger. "This ridiculous dream is over! Take me home!" I ordered and stomped my foot, sending an echoing vibration through the metal rails.

Jerry jumped from the railing, took two quick strides towards me and gripped my shoulders tightly. "Ella, you might not understand this yet, but you're meant to be here. There are forces at work that even I can't control-"

I pushed him away with enough power to throw him on his back. He slid across the balcony and slammed his head against the caged iron bars. "My name is Sydney, _not _Ella. And you're the one who brought me to this awful place, so you can send me back."

Jerry felt the back of his head and inspected his fingers, seeing blood.

"So," I whispered, "even you can get hurt, that proves it then. Maybe a hundred years or a Shinigami's notebook can't take you out, but if I threw you off this ledge you'd be a gonner too."

Jerry's face darkened. "Is that a threat?" Slowly, he rose to his feet. "Spirited you may be, Sydney, but even I have a limit to my patience. " The shadows began to swirl around him, like grasping hands of dead spirits, reaching for an unattainable salvation.

I felt the sting from the cut shoot up my arm, like dozens of nettles piercing my veins. My hand started to shake. There had been another question eating away at my thoughts, devouring my attention. A question I was loathe, or perhaps scared, to ask.

A question about a stranger.

Jerry seemed to sense my indecision, as if he could see the words hovering at the opening of my lips, anxious to escape. "Let me show you something." Jerry snapped his fingers and the shadows shot towards me, wrapped around my body and squeezed.

I struggled, but felt the breath in my lungs escape from my lips. I shut my eyes tight and flinched when I heard a loud POP!

My stomach was doing back-flips and my head was swooning – the same symptoms that occurred when Scab had transported me to No Man's land. I resisted opening my eyes at first, fearing that I had been constricted into a puddle of soup. I wiggled my fingers, then my toes, and once I was sure I was fine, I let my eyelids flutter open.

I had (once again) travelled to another world and (once again) it was against my will.

Big surprise.

I was getting used to the travelling sickness, and the strange sensation of my body being pulled in every direction at once as I moved between worlds, but I could never get used to the view.

A tower of ice and snow rose from the centre of a raging green sea, a pale sliver of multicoloured prisms in an otherwise deserted land – and I stood at the top.

The expanse of avocado-coloured water spread out forever, sparkling as the rolling waves reflected the light of a yellow sun. The whistling of the breeze darted back and forth, unable to make up its mind, creating a wind chime sound as it struck the surface of the ice. The constant crashing of mile high waves against the tower sent shudders every so often from beneath my feet, reminding me of my fragile coordinates.

"Jerry!" I called out, and wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead. Despite the freezing sensation on the soles of my feet, the ice acted more or less like a mirror, multiplying the effect of the sun's rays and making it as hot as any desirable tropical vacation spot. All I needed now was a coconut drink and a hula skirt.

I squinted from the light and started forward. A pyre of opaque, blue ice blocked my view of the other side of the peak, and several rivets and holes made easy hiding places. I inspected each one for Jerry, but came up short. Frustrated, I sat down in a huff and rubbed the cold from my feet.

That's when I heard laughter.

My ears perked up and I sat to attention. It sounded like a child's, and bounced off the ice, making it impossible to pinpoint its origin. "It's okay," I mumbled nervously to myself, "Just some invisible, creepy kid's laughter. Nothing to worry about."

I began tiptoeing around the block of ice, looking back over my shoulder every so often. I could see movement through a clear patch. The shapes were distorted, and sent my imagination into wild, horror film territory, identifying the figures as frightening monsters with long teeth and claws and an appetite for delinquent teenage girls.

I peered around the corner.

By now, after all I'd been through, I should have been used to the bizarre, but no amount of the impossible could have prepared me for this.

A small child, dressed in a grey school uniform, was holding his stomach and rolling back and forth. He laughed and pointed at his gambling opponent as he threw his (presumably newly acquired) chips in the air. He had a sharp, intelligent face, neatly groomed hazelnut hair and bright green eyes.

His opponent was a bear. (Yeah, you read that right). The enormous grizzly threw his useless playing cards to the ground and groaned, rubbing his face with a pair of gigantic (and sharp) paws. At the end of his nose perched a set of small, round glasses, and he wore a bright purple vest.

Off to the side was an old man wearing lots of leather, spikes, and chains. His hair was gelled to a point and dyed orange, and on the back of his jacket was the picture of a skull with a nail through the eye socket. He was leaning against the wall, having a lively discussion with a pink triangle of light - and the triangle of light was speaking back. I assumed it was female, because of the high pitched voice, and for some reason she had a chipper British accent. She bobbed up and down, and her light would dim and brighten sporadically depending on her excitement.

Beside those two was an extremely fat, warty...well...I think it was a troll or a goblin or something. She stood at about eight feet tall, had crusty-fingernail-coloured skin, a nose like a tomato, two yak horns behind a pair of rounded ears and curly blonde hair. She wore silver armour, and a gigantic double-edged axe was strapped to her back. Her piggy eyes were squeezed shut as she yanked backwards with all her strength, having recently stuck her long, dripping tongue to the wall of ice. She pulled and pulled, grumbling unintelligibly, trying to release herself from the ice.

If I thought I was tripping out on acid before, then this must be the ungodly cocktail of drug hallucinations. _I've seriously got to write some of this down. _I kept myself as still as possible as I watched the strange group, until the bear lifted his head and sniffed the air. His nose twitched and he stood up on his hind legs, showing off an impressive ten feet of fur and muscle. "I smell something," he said, his voice soft and deep.

"Oh, you're always smelling something, Bear." The old man said, waving the bear's suspicion away.

The little boy plugged his nose and gestured over his shoulder at the trolless with his thumb. "I wouldn't worry about it, Bear, it was probably Yairne again."

The trolless named Yairne, in a shout of outrage, managed to finally unstick her tongue from the ice. She stumbled back. "I resent that, you little urchin! I for one have a lovely scent, so addictive that even the Monk over there won't be able to resist my natural _amour_ for long."

The old man scoffed. "Fat chance, I've promised myself to rock and roll." He said, as if it was the most noble thing a man could do, and proceeded to stick out his tongue like Kiss and begin an extensive display of his talent with an air guitar.

The kid rolled his eyes and adjusted his tie. "How did a genius like me end up with you lot? Bear, we're in the middle of the Dead Host's Sea, on top of the last remaining shard of the Ice City, the kind of which cannot be scaled or reached with wings, in the Gamma sector of the Pineapple Universe. Come on, we picked this vacation spot for the _reason_ that no one else is around. I think your nose is getting old."

A low growl rippled from the Bear's gullet. "Don't insult my nose, James, its more clever than your oversized brain by far."

"Play nice, you guys." The floating triangle said, flickering fretfully. Suddenly, her pink light brightened and the edges of her figure seemed to solidify. "Bear, I sense another life-form too."

"You see," the Bear exclaimed, "my nose never lies."

"Is it the Librarian?" The trolless asked, taking a hopeful step forward.

"Ha," said the old man, "he's far too happy in Arabian Nights with _her_ to bother with us any more."

At this point, I had regained enough of my senses to start backing away. Of course, the way my luck was going, it was practically inevitable that I slipped (I'm noticing a trend here...). I slid forward on my back, kicking up ice chips. The edge of the ice pillar came into view, with me speeding towards it. I screamed and felt my pajama shirt rip, the ice burning against the bare skin of my back.

Just as my feet fell over the edge, a strong hand grabbed my collar and yanked me back. I was no longer plummeting to my death, but the alternative wasn't much better. Now I was in the clutches of the trolless. She held my up to eye level, her flat nose wiggling. "It's a human girl!"

The old man gripped my shoulder and pulled me down to the ground. He held onto my wrist tightly to keep me from running away. "But how did she get here?"

I tore my wrist from the old man and backed away, trying to keep the scream that grew in my throat from escaping. "I just took a wrong turn at the last planet. If you'd let me go I'll just be on my way-"

"Let me see, let me see!" James cried, jumping up and down like a little kid at a parade.

Yairne snatched me back, her hand was so large that it wrapped entirely around my mid-section. She squeezed and pushed the air from my lungs. Her eyes narrowed and her tusks curved upwards in a smile. "I say we eat her."

I started to sweat.

"Hmmm," Bear adjusted his spectacles thoughtfully, "I like the sound of that."

"Oh," I laughed nervously, "you don't want to eat me. I'm terribly unhealthy. Lots of sugars and trans fat."

Yairne licked her lips and chuckled. "I _love_ trans fat."

I gulped.

"About to have lunch, are we?" A voice said cheerfully from behind us. The group turned around. From the pallor of the ice stepped Jerry, arms open wide as if expecting a welcome hug. "I have to warn you, my friend there has far too much muscle to make a good meal."

It was as if someone hit a switch. My captors demeanour turned from lighthearted to animosity in an instant.

Bear was the first to move. His hackles raised and fur standing on end, he pulled back his black lips back and bared sharp, snow-white teeth. A menacing growl rippled from his stomach and up his throat, he slammed his paws to the ground. Pale cracks spider-webbed from the points of impact, shooting their jagged edges towards Jerry like lightning bolts. "Any friend of yours is an enemy of ours." His guttural voice managed to spit out, barely distinguishable from an animal's snarl.

"What are you doing here, Traitor?" Yairne asked, squeezing me tighter. My cheeks turned a light blue.

"Just thought I'd pop by for a cup of tea, maybe a game or two, that is . . . _if_ you're up for it." He tilted his head suggestively.

Bear released a furious growl into the air, shaking his head in rage.

James carefully stepped forward and placed a gentle, reassuring hand on Bear's side. He turned his gaze on Jerry, pointed and calculating. It was strange to see such a stern expression on someone so young, almost as if his head was mismatched with his body. "The last time we played a game with you Patricia and I nearly died."

"Yes," Patricia the triangle of light piped up, trying to sound brave, "It took two centuries to expel the bits of Dark Matter from my essence, and James was almost incinerated by that Super Nova. He still can't get his eyebrows to grow back."

Jerry shook his head in disbelief. "Why, you're all poor sports! Whatever happened to letting bygones be bygones?"

"I'll show you my forgiveness, Traitor, come a little closer." The trolless seethed, beckoning him over. "I say we have the girl as an appetizer, and you as the main course."

"Ah, Yairne, beautiful and elegant as ever, how did your conquering of the Aardvark Junction go?"

She smiled again, her eyes hungry. "_Excellent_, and if you don't leave now, I'll do to you what I did to them."

"Yes, Traitor," The old man whispered, his mouth dry, "you are not welcome here."

Jerry frowned. "Surely not you, Monk, my closest of comrades, would have forgiven me by now?"

Monk opened his leather jacket, exposing a dangerous-looking iron mace and chain, and from the look in his eyes I was certain he knew how to use it. His wrinkles deepened at his brow. "I learned a long time ago to treasure my trust. I do not give it away so easily anymore – not for the likes of you."

The blue colouring in my cheeks began to darken to a plum-purple. "Jerry," I managed to squeak with the last of my energy – a weak cry for help. My vision began to tunnel.

Jerry backed away, nodding respectively. "Of course, of course. I understand. I'll leave. But would you mind releasing my protegee? I fear you may crush her to death, and she is undoubtedly important to me."

Yairne looked uncertainly at Bear, who nodded, and she let me go. I dropped to the ground, heavy as a stone, and gasped for air like a suffocating fish out of water. Jerry let me lean on his shoulder as he led me away from the group. "Now that you've met everyone," Jerry started, keeping a watchful eye on Yairne, who was quickly untying her axe from its tether, "let me introduce you. Everyone, this is Sydney. Sydney, I believe I mentioned them before–"

"The Leader." Bear raised himself back onto his hind legs, and placed his spectacles in his vest pocket. The move reminded me of what Mikal would do when he was preparing for a fight, not wanting his glasses to be damaged once punches were thrown.

"The Warrior." James shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie.

"The Seeker." Patricia's light began to blink quickly, pulsing like a panicked heartbeat.

"The Monk." The old man smoothed his pointed orange hair up and took out his mace, beginning to swing it in a wide circle.

"And the Temptress." Unable to control herself any longer, Yairne shrieked and her goat horns trumpeted a shrill sound. With a cry of war the trolless bared her axe and ran forward, her steps causing the entire tower of ice to shake.

"Lesson one," Jerry said in my ear, holding my shoulder tightly from behind, "survive the family reunion." He pushed me forward and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

I didn't have time to think before Yairne's axe cut down at a diagonal, it's sharpened blade prepared to slice me in half. Psychology has pinpointed two immediate, primeval reactions when met with danger. Fight or flight. I may scale buildings, drive fast cars and steal from the bulging pockets of tourists, but going one on one with a giant troll wielding an axe is not my forte. Instinct took over my tendons and muscles and I ducked, feeling the power of her weapon inches above my head. When she swung back around, I leaped as high as I could. But not high enough, because my foot caught on the face of her blade.

I had two options: One – buckle under, fall and be chopped into itty bitty servings or Two - stay standing.

Thank my father's genes I have strong legs.

With a grunt she thrust upwards and I was thrown high into the air, arms and legs whirling to regain my balance. Gravity took over and I fell back to earth, narrowly missing Yairne's third whistling attack. I landed with a loud THUMP on Bear's back. He roared and began to buck, and I held onto chunks of his fur as tightly as I could, keeping my body close to his.

"Jerry! Help me!"

But Jerry was nowhere to be seen.

Bear lifted his hind legs up and I tumbled forward over his head. I somersaulted out of the way just as his tire-sized paw slammed down where my head was. Bear followed me, teeth fully exposed and saliva dripping down his chin. He chomped at empty air as I continued to roll. Now I was nearing the edge of the tower, and I could feel the wind whipping up against the wall and out into open space.

I forced myself to my feet, skidded to a stop and raced around the corner, only to be met with the fury of a senior swinging a spiked ball and chain. "Holy-!" I shouted and dived forward, sliding between his legs like a professional baseball player aiming for home base. Looking left and right, I stumbled into a crevice and began to edge away from the outside. The white light from the entrance slowly turned a dim, eggshell blue. The crevice widened and my shuffle turned into a full out run. It angled downwards slightly and turned sharply every couple of feet, making it impossible to avoid slamming my body against the walls. By the time I was deep inside the centre of the tower, my body was bruised black and yellow.

I was in such pain that I didn't notice the hole until it was too late. I fell in head first and raised my arms to protect my face. I shut my eyes and curled into a ball once I made contact with something solid. I slid down the winding tunnel as it snaked deeper and deeper downwards, until almost all of the outside light blinked out into little more than a deep, ocean green, almost black. I landed with a pained cry in a frozen cavern, sliding across its expanse until crashing into the opposite wall. (Talk about freezer burn).

I groaned, thanking my lucky stars to be alive. Only one thought circled around and around in my mind, cancelling out all others – _I am going to kill Jerry_. I struggled to my feet, rubbing my arms to defy the chill. Despite the darkness there was light. The walls were clear, and outside round circles or long, wiggling strings of light swam to and fro. Bioluminescent fish darted just beyond the translucent, cavern wall, sending disco-like light across the ceiling and floor. The green, yellow, and orange light refracted, spinning like neon rays of sunshine.

"So, you survived the fall."

I spun around.

James stood, jacket folded over his arm, at the far end of the cavern. He set his jacket down neatly and removed his tie, leaving them both at a safe distance in the corner. In the flickering neon light the boy looked like he stepped straight out of horror film, like The Omen or The Exorcist. His eyes appeared to glow green, his skin was so white I wouldn't have doubted he was made from a jigsaw puzzle of snowflakes. He didn't smile, didn't move, he was so still I could have mistaken him to be a part of the ice itself.

_I see how it is. If he wants to throw down, I'll be ready. _I rolled my shoulders back, stretched my neck and cracked my knuckles. "Where are your friends?"

"In pursuit of Gerald, at the moment. He won't get very far."

"What's your beef with him anyway? No, wait, scratch that. What's your beef with me? I have nothing to do with your weird, world-travelling band of freaks. I just want to go home!"

"Is home in that decaying, neighbourhood of Hunts Point, New York? Or is it in that poor, French village so far north it doesn't even have a name? Or perhaps you are simply referring to your own time, your own solar system. Is that it?"

For a moment, nothing was said, but my body involuntarily adjusted itself to an offensive stance. My expression altered to a restrained, slow-smoking fury. "How do you know where I-?"

"I know quite a lot about you, Sydney Pennypocket. It's easy to acquire information when one can step between worlds at will, and as one of the Seven, I have mastered that talent."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are you going to try and kill me too? I warn you, my math tutor taught me how to box."

He smiled, as if speaking to a toddler, not someone over a foot taller than him, and bowed his head politely. "I came to apologize for my friends' behaviour, and to offer you a deal."

I didn't move, suspicious. "What kind of deal?"

"You see, my dear, you are an extra in the equation of Fate. Lady Luck's hidden card, if you will. People like you have a sort of-"

"Spark." I mumbled, echoing Jerry from earlier.

"Yes, exactly. Sparks are hard to come by, but are impeccably valuable. It makes it easier to travel between worlds, dimensions, times. Consider it a ticket to the fast-lane in the quadro-dimensional theme park. However, one cannot simply extract a Spark from a person, they must be given away of their own free will. If you were to sign your Spark over to me, I promise to put it to good use. I'll even return you home. What do you say?"

Was his offer tempting? Sure, but I trusted the squirt about as much as I trusted Jerry – not a bit. "Why bother asking? You already know my answer."

"You could accept my offer, or give yourself to the ice."

I tilted my head to the side and tightened my lips. _What does he mean?_

He gestured nonchalantly with his hand at the walls. "The ice here has special properties, after being mined from the Arctic of Serendipity and carried here block by block on the bloodied backs of Hive slaves." He looked around. "They're haunting chants still echo off the ceiling occasionally. It has its way of telling truths about ourselves, if we care to look. Most dare not gaze at their reflection in these walls, those that do go insane. If you were to gaze at my reflection, you would know why I am called The Warrior, and beg for mercy. I wonder what the ice has to say about you, Sydney?"

I felt a brush of cold air drift up my spine and across my neck, chilling the beads of sweat that rolled down my skin. I had the strangest sensation of being watched, and a pull on my consciousness, goading me to look at the ice. I struggled against the beckoning, feeling the strain steadily increase as I focused on James. It became difficult to keep my neck and eyes in one place, and my body began to twitch. "Jerry gave me the impression that you lot were wise and all powerful," I said through clenched teeth, "but now I know _exactly _how mortal you are. You can be jealous, and vengeful, and hurt, and all of you are completely full of hot, stinking-."

James took a provoked step back, blinking rapidly. "You dare-"

"I know why Jerry brought me here," I continued, my skin itching, as if a thousand hooks were latched on, tugging and yanking, begging me to turn my head and look at my reflection. "He wanted me to see what happens to a traveller when they lose their humanity. Fine. I won't go home. What the hell? Anything is better than ending up like pathetic, billion year old freaks with nothing better to do in their afternoons than play poker. Throw everything you've got at me, I'm not leaving until I-.

"Save that detective boy?" James cut in sharply. "I really wouldn't bother. Whatever Gerald has told you, it's a lie. That man always has a hidden ace up his sleeve."

"I'm not doing it for Jerry!" I clenched my fists tightly, breathing heavily. "Don't tell me what's good for me! I'll figure it out myself!"

Jame's expression melted into quiet understanding. "Ah, I see. That might put a hitch in Gerald's plans." He lifted his hand from behind his back, and like a magician's sleek performance, seemed to pull a pair of tattered red shoes from mid-air. "I doubt Gerald counted on you falling in love with the detective."

"H-hey. Who said anything about...love?" I cleared my throat. "And where did you get my shoes?"

James tilted his head. "Still not getting it? I'm one of the Seven. I can move between worlds at ease. If I wanted I could send you flying out into the airless vacuum of space, or into the Red Eye of Jupiter, or into a raging squall of carnivorous worms."

"Then why haven't you?"

"I told you, your Spark. You have one, and I want it."

"I'll take my chances with the carnivorous worms, thanks."

"You're playing with cosmic consequences, girl. Gerald Smith is a dangerous man who puts kids like you in the line of fire for his own, sick, rebellion against Fate."

"I don't believe in Fate." And with that, before James could stop me, I let all my inhibition and self-restrain go, and let my head turn to look at the ice.

The room exploded with colour and sound, glittering images filled every conceivable space. I immediately fell to my knees and covered my ears, but I could not force my eyes to close. Now the sounds and pictures were in my head, moving by like cars on the freeway.

_There was a little girl, playing in a princess costume, a lost tooth tucked under her pillow as she obediently fell asleep waiting for a mischievous and magical fairy to stop by and take it. Instead of waking up to see a small woman in a tutu, she could see nothing but blackness – then a single, red eye in the crack of her open door. A guiding hand, a cackle of laughter, and a lonely girl unable to tear herself away from a red room. _

_The scene jumped forward. This time the girl was a little older, a lot thinner, and so hungry she was dumpster diving for scraps. Her foster mother was a prude, fat woman who gave her whatever her dog wouldn't eat, and the girl was beginning to resemble a skeleton. She didn't speak, and didn't look anyone in the eye, but she watched. She sat and she watched people walk by day in and day out, observing like a silent bird of prey, eyeing their valuables with a new-found hunger. _

_Now she was running from the police for the first time. Rather than her usual laughter, she was filled with anxiety and fear. All she could think of was metal bars, a rusty toilet and getting shanked by a razor blade during free hour. That night she spent running around the city's alleys, paranoid at every police siren and unmarked, parked cars. Indifferent to the rain and thunder that battled over her head. _

_A shattered beer bottle on the wall above her head. The liquid dripped down and coated one side of her face and hair. His shouts were drowned out by the ringing in her ears from when he boxed her 'round the head. She felt a bruise begin to form under her eye. Without warning, she jumped to her feet and screamed "I HATE you!" That night she wandered out onto her balcony, salt stains on her cheeks, blood oozing from her lip. She never said those words, or a likeness, to him again. _

_A boy's smiling face, bright intelligent eyes, filled with power and drive. Going over how to hit a sandbag properly in his father's gym, while making her recite answers to their pre-exam in calculus. "Stop it, Mikal!" She yelled. "I can't do it! I just can't!" The girl stormed off, and the boy's eyes fell. He sighed. The image warped, now his face is pale and sickly. His skin sallow, his hair limp. He breathed through a tube in a hospital bed. The girl cried for the first time in years. She left the hospital and was arrested for attempting to rob the petty cash safe in her school. Reports showed she was carried away, shouting at the news cameras to anyone who would listen to donate money for her friend's family, who's insurance didn't cover his tragic car accident. A day later, Mikal's family received an enormous amount of money in the mail from anonymous donations. _

_Another leap in time, the girl was out of control. She had been hitting every aristocrat in the city. Small headlines raved about her 'Robin-Hood-steal-from-the-rich-and-give-nothing-back-' style. The heat was heavy, but she didn't care. She had nothing to care about anymore – no one but herself. Everyone either left her, tried to arrest her, or hated her. Who cared anymore? Her only friend was the pawnshop owner she partnered with. In fact, she had to meet with him today..._

It was like taking the power of an earthquake and containing it in the small space of my skull. I forgot how to breathe as thousands of these experiences ran through my mind, projected in the ice. I knew why James warned me. I was steadily going insane. No one wanted to relive every moment of their lives, especially me. My body grew numb, and my eyes dried out from my inability to blink. This is what it meant, to see yourself, your _whole _self, objectively. The good, the bad, and the horrible. A battle raged in my body, and I was losing.

James tutted sadly and casually strolled over. "A shame. Your Spark would have been valuable. I suppose I should drop you off to the nearest orbiting space-asylum and—wait, what are you doing? Are you crazy? Sit back down!"

But James' orders went over my head. A passing thought had breezed through my consciousness, but I managed to grab it. Now I was holding to it like a life-line, using it as my crutch back into reality. "I..." I started, struggling to my knees, "am..." I put one foot out, almost fell, but managed to keep my balance. The Seven, the investigator, Jerry, L, even me – all want to know _who _I am. Am I the little girl in the princess costume? The tragic leftovers of a terrible crime? The infamous thief? The delinquent? The friend? The poor student? The criminal? Syndey Pennypocket? Ella Krispy? Yes. No. Sometimes. But the one identity I could hold on to, the single idea that kept me sane, the sole title that gave me grounds to stand back up, the only thought that could save me – had always been a part of me for as long as I could remember, and always will be. I wrenched myself free and stood tall, tearing myself from the mental chains that had once tied me down. At the top of my lungs I shouted "A CANADIAN!"

And THEN I collapsed.

James stood over my limp body, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Even a Wild Card would have their trouble surviving the Ice without frying their brain. What sort of Traveller _was_ this girl?

"Curious, isn't she? Poor thing, I've heard of an Alice falling through the looking glass, but never a Sydney." Jerry leaned against the corner wall, arms crossed, hat tilted down so his eyes were hidden.

"So, you escaped the others." James said dully.

"As usual."

James rubbed his eyes with his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I suppose engaging you in combat would be redundant."

"I suppose it would."

"Then you must be here to collect the girl."

"If you aren't foolish enough to stand in my way."

"There's nothing out rightly special about her. No hidden powers or talents. Nothing other than her Spark. What makes her different then the other asinine fangirls you've transported into that ridiculous 2D universe? What makes you think she'll succeed?"

Jerry huffed as he heaved me over his shoulder, like a sack of raw potatoes. My head rolled back and forth, and I mumbled under my breath about blue-flavoured snow cones. He paused. "The conviction of human beings is something you could never fathom, James. This girl's _will_ is stronger than any other I've encountered. She'll make it."

Jerry turned heel, but James took a step forward. "She's fallen in love with the detective, Gerald." He said, his tone serious.

Jerry snapped his fingers and a portal of light opened, swirling like a shining whirlpool. He turned his head back slightly. "They always do." He whispered, laughed, and strode through, the doorway closing behind him.

James smoothed his hair back. _The others are not going to like this. Looks like a new player has entered the game._

**Death Note Universe**

Jerry gently laid me out on the plastic lawn chair on the balcony of the hotel. The sky was the same deep shade, indicating that no time had passed since their 'field trip'. I mumbled some more in my sleep, rolled over and began to drool. Jerry tipped his hat to me and leaped onto the edge of the balcony. "You'll show'em, kid. One day the whole cosmos is going to know who you are, and they'll love you for it. Just a bit further. You're in the final sprint." He tipped his hat to me. Then froze, he sensed a presence approaching.

"Is someone there?" The sliding door SHOOPED open and L looked left and right, but saw no one else. He saw me sleeping on the lawn chair, disappeared back inside, then returned with a blanket. Carefully, holding it with two fingers, he draped it across my body, making sure it was tucked under my chin, all the while keeping a safe arms' length distance. He stopped to survey my face, noting the more-than-healthy-amount of drool now pooling next to my squished cheek, and the flush in my cheeks, as if I had just run track. He tilted his head, re-adjusted the blanket, then moved to make his way back inside. Before he left, he stopped and sniffed the air. On the balcony one floor above him a distinct odour of cigarettes drifted down. He could see the burning tail of the cigarette light as a man took a long, slow inhale of the toxic chemicals. L bent his head back as if it were on a hinge, but could not make out more than the silhouette of the man. The man flicked his cigarette butt over the edge, and L watched as the simmering stick tumbled to the street below.

The man seemed to notice L staring, because he casually leaned over the balcony rail, but did not look down, revealing a strong chin and cowboy hat, and not much else. "Cool night, isn't it, sir?" The man asked.

"Yes," L mumbled. "Indeed."

The man on the balcony disappeared over the rail and shut the door behind him. L returned back inside the hotel, leaving the door open a crack so that he could hear when I woke up. He flipped open his phone and held it to his ear. "Watari, could I get a profile on the man staying in the hotel room directly above ours?"

"_I'm afraid that is impossible, sir."_

"And why is that?"

"_There _is_ nobody staying in the apartment above yours. Or on either side, or across the hall. You requested as such."_

"Yes, as I thought. Thank you, Watari." L snapped the phone shut, left to wonder what trouble, if any, had his young tenant gotten herself into dove into his laptop, crouching and biting his thumbnail with a ferocity, going over his extensive files on her again. At this point, L considered Sydney as much his responsibility as the rest of the investigation team. The difference was, he knew next to nothing about her, and what he _did _know made no cognitive sense. Then again, the abnormal must be addressed, especially considering the circumstances.

_Who are you, Sydney Pennypocket?_

_End of Chapter 23_

I warned you this chapter was crazy.

Lots of Love.

~Satchelle


	24. Train of Thought

**Chapter 24**

He had not moved - not a shuffle or a slide or a twitch. Not for hours. He barely blinked, barely breathed. He was so silent he could have been mistaken for a skinny gargoyle, or a messy haired mannequin, or dead.

The pink, innocent arrows of morning light spun just beyond the rising towers of steel and glass. The city never truly slept, only changed its face - washing away its make-up and whiskey stains and back alley horrors for news reports and badly cooked eggs, altering its form from the short-skirted party animal of the late hours to the suited business woman of the day. An early chorus of city bred birds rose above the din, discussing which cafes to pick at edible litter and who had been eaten by a hawk or electrocuted by cable lines. The smells changed too, from tequila and cologne and cigarettes to coffee and pancakes and rush hour smog.

Lately the city, no, the world had been tense, no matter the hour. Kira had everyone on their toes, looking over their shoulders, wringing their hands together with sweat running down their necks. Some turned to the government, some to gods, and some to Kira. His support grew in the shadows and hidden places of the evening, whispering secrets, and when morning came more voices trumpeted loudly to any and all who would listen - a call to arms.

But it was not the blind followers that concerned him, no. Why bother with the sheep when there was a wolf hidden amongst them? L knew he stood on the precipice of destruction, balancing on a thin wire above Kira's flames. He could feel them licking at his bare feet, teasing, burning, reminding him of the danger. On the other side of the wire, tall and confident and unreachable was a man, Kira. Normally his face was hidden in the dark, but more and more lately he took the form of Light Yagami. A deadly game of cat and mouse was being played here, but the question still remained - who was the cat, and who was the mouse?

His many thoughts and ideas spun around in his mind, a complicated tornado of every slip of evidence and dead ends and unanswered questions that kept him alert. Everything pointed to the police Chief's son, and yet nothing at all. L felt vexed, and also a sense of admiration. It had been a long time since he was met with a worthy opponent, a challenge. He wondered if Kira thought of him with a similar respect.

_Speaking of challenges..._

L had been staring at Sydney all night.

He knew popular culture deemed it rude to stare, but it was difficult not to. He found himself staring at her a lot lately, normally she didn't notice, which was good, he didn't want her guessing. He didn't want anyone guessing. He had deemed that if anyone did, especially current company, it may put her in danger. Yet danger found her anyways, or _she_ found _it_. Her body was coated with its reminders. The empty wedge at the tip of her ear was puckered with thin, pink scars. They spiralled away from the healed wound, like miniature lightning bolts. It was bumpy and blackened around the curved edge, caused by the searing heat of the bullet that struck her. Her bruises from her beating at school were fading, but seeing the way the purple ovals massacred her normally smooth, creamy skin made rash, angry feelings stir in his stomach. Now her hand, bandages soaked through with blood, would soon add another scar to her growing collection. L had plenty of time to find her many scars, most hardly visible anymore, hinting at the years of abuse she endured, and denied. He knew she had told the Chief, Watari had informed him of that, but she had not told him.

_She does not trust me._ He thought solemnly. Or is it something else? Perhaps she did not want to appear weak in front of him. Maybe she was ashamed. Whatever the reason, he would find out. One way or another, he would learn who broke her bones and cut her skin, and when he did...when he did...His fingers squeezed together, a slight movement, but enough to hint at the rush of emotion behind the action. _She will have her justice._

The girl was sprawled out on the lawn chair, one arm and leg hanging sloppily over the side, mouth wide open. She snored loudly, without a care in the world, and a steady drip of drool ran down the corner of her mouth and dampened the blanket he had given her. He had watched her face for so long now that he had started to memorize the pattern of freckles along her cheeks and forehead, giving her a "raccoon-bandit" look. Each dot was like a star in the sky, and its entirety a constellation, beautiful and distant and...untouchable. _Untouchable_, he thought the word again, reaffirming it, yet he stared on. Her body was muscular, her arms and legs outlined with deep, sinewy lines. She was athletic, strong, but he liked that. He liked..._No_. Her lips were thin, bitten from troubling nightmares. Where many might describe a woman's lips as rose petals or strawberries, he imagined them more like liquorice, sweet, delicious, easy to bite..._No_. Her black lashes fluttered in her sleep, brushing her rounded cheek bones like soft feathers. Her hair was wild and full of rat nests, frizzy with split ends and brambles. Yet he saw it as a waterfall of chocolate, swirling and splashing about her shoulders. How he wanted to run his hand through it, to yank it down, pulling her head back and..._NO_.

His thoughts could not venture down that path, not now. He had not believed he possessed them at all, until she came. She allowed more than frustration and wonder to stir in his belly, something else. Something heavy and passionate and so very..._human_. L was well aware he was a male, and could not escape the urges of his gender, but he had never felt this way before. It was more than a passing twinge, it was a longing. A fire that refused to burn away no matter how he distracted himself with equations and mysteries and cases. He didn't dare tell Watari, for fear of the old man's ridicule, or worse - his advice.

_I will not act on this._

He told himself that every time he saw her and the earning inside his stomach started to steam with new heat. But she was a distraction, pulling him away from the Kira investigation. She was a _problem_. _Still_, a voice at the back of his mind said suggestively, _the distraction would cease if you had your fill._ She was so mature for her age, the way she spoke without restraint or propriety, the way she walked, confident, it was difficult to remember that she was only a girl. Untried, untested - innocent. _But how do I know that_? He thought suddenly. She very well could have had a man before, how could he tell? He didn't know her past. And what of this Mikal she spoke of in her sleep? The idea of her being with someone else made a different feeling flicker behind his eyes, something foreign and irritable. He quickly snuffed it out. It did no good to feel jealous of someone he had never met.

Sydney moaned in her sleep and her head flopped to the side, exposing her long, bare neck to the cold air. He watched the line of sinew and muscle stretch from her earlobe to her shoulder, down her neck, how he wanted to press his lips against it and..._I must stop_. But he could not. He had never thought any female would be compatible to him, especially one like her. She was loud, obnoxious, and she seemed ignorant of the word 'humble'. Proud to a fault, senseless, oblivious, rash, rude - the list went on. Even her laugh was unrestrained and outgoing. Since meeting him she had burst into song, snuck into his room, climbed an elevator shaft, caused a high speed car chase, instigated a cheerleader riot, broken into a university, witnessed a murder, disappeared from under his nose with no explanation, died and came back to life - he couldn't even name them all. She was just so...strange.

He liked strange.

And the mystery that came with her, oh, what a mystery it was. Engaging, in depth, and the more he uncovered the more questions that were raised. His thirst for answers only grew with each new development, a thirst he desperately wished to quench, one way or another. He had secretly stolen her DNA and fingerprints, and the tests he received were conclusive, but also impossible. It was frustrating and wonderful all at once, and it only made him stare at her more as he tried to unlock her treasure trove of secrets. The way she looked at him, how casual and at ease she was, as if she had known him for years. She knew his name, more than she should. She knew his history, or parts of it at least. And most of all - she shouldn't even _exist_.

L had theories, none even close to the truth, but it didn't stop him from trying to untangle the web that wrapped around her, tightly hiding reality. Who Sydney Pennypocket truly was remained an undiscovered X on a crudely drawn map, and L would not rest until he felt satisfied with what lay hidden beneath that mark.

She stirred, grumbling something, and murmured softly. "L".

His chest tightened.

Was she dreaming of him? L didn't pretend not to notice the way she looked at him. He knew she liked him too. The furtive glances, the way she blushed when she thought he wasn't looking, how she made any excuse to be near him. There were times when she was so close he could smell her. She was intoxicating, and wasn't like anything he had every breathed in. She smelled of sweat and dust and fruit and something...different. L had no way of knowing that the raspberry scent of the blue grass from no man's land, or the starburst sour taste of the doors between worlds, or the rusty red sand from the land of lost souls had fused to her skin like acrylic paint, a marker of brilliant and terrible places beyond the blackest patch of sky that gave her scent a unique tang. Just another variable to add to her addictive, fascinating equation.

His eyes followed the curved outline of her body, from the upturn in her nose to her slender neck, down her torso, following the curve of her hips and thighs...

L felt his skin flush and his eyes glaze over. His thoughts were less than honourable, but he enjoyed his fantasy. Fiction, that was all it was, not reality. Nothing would happen, he would see to it. He would not take advantage of her adoration for him, not just to satisfy a lust brought on by pheromones and chemically induced urges.

_Is it lust?_ He thought. Did he dare to think otherwise? _Or is it lo…_

As the peach and cream and cherry colour of dawn spread its delicate buttery light upon Sydney's face, her eyes opened.

"Good morning." L said.

_End of Chapter 24_

Hey everyone. Been a while, hasn't it? Bad habit. I know it's short, but I felt an urge. I'm in a writing mood and I FINALLY have a day off tomorrow. Hopefully I can work out a few more chapters before my writer's block returns, so feel safe to expect more updates in the coming late hours. Been busy with writing original stuff, but I still have a soft spot for this fanfiction in particular.

I HOPE he wasn't OC. Tried my best to convey his romantic interest in a very "L" way. Hope you guys approve.

PS: You're reviews are AMAZING. I love your jokes and rambling and support and GAH you guys are just awesome in general. Keep telling me your thoughts, or feelings, or rants, it's totally entertaining to read, and makes me feel like writing more.

Talk to you guys soon,

Satchelle


	25. Welcome to the Tea Party

**Chapter 25**

I had the oddest dream.

I was walking down a winding path, skipping actually, that spiraled through a twisted city. The steel bars from the buildings were twisted and broken, bending like the branches of gigantic metal trees, trying to grab me. Street lights flickered and fizzed, exploding with sparks. They hung like violent stars above my head, electric emeralds and rubies and topazes. Golden, angled eyes blinked behind black windows, following my movements, though I took no notice. Flora took over the city, standing as tall as the buildings. Vines clung to glass and brick, and huge flowers rose high into the twisted city's rafters, wrapping around fallen bridges and crushed buses. The flower petals rustled, making gossiping bell-like sounds, though there was no wind. Mushrooms as well, plain or spotted, also grew amongst the city. They varied from poisonous black with yellow spots to frozen blue and purple, but all loop da looped and curved in wonky fashions. Every time I passed beneath one it would shudder, as if caught with a sudden chill, then explode, and shrink to the size of my thumb.

The asphalt was cracked and tilted, lopsided in a way. It took me many moments to realize it was painted with peeling pigment, looking like giant black and white squares. Street signs lay broken on the ground, pointing to everywhere and nowhere at once. The signs were pink and curved, reminding me of flamingos. I saw a blue caterpillar crawling leisurely across the windshield of a crashed car, which was completely white aside from the gigantic red heart painted on top. _Curious. _I reached an intersection, where more red and white cars had collided. At its center stood a gigantic bronze statue. A little girl in a simple dress, riding a horse that reminded me of a chess piece. A cloth top hat sat on her head, full of colourful patches and wiry with loose thread. A note was still placed in the band at its base, reading _10/6, _yellow and crusted from age. _I wonder who put that hat there... _

"She's gone now." I voice said, almost sadly, from behind me.

I turned around to see a huge, fluffy cat. One ear was missing, and its fur was graying, though hinted that it once was purple. Its plump face sagged with age, and its whiskers were so long they reached the ground. He was as big as a baby lion, maybe larger, and with a slow, almost lazy leap did he hop into the air as if hopping up a step, gliding towards me. He floated without difficulty, as if he was as light as a piece of paper, rather than a fat cat.

"Where am I?" A clap of thunder sounded and lightning flashed in a clouded sky, I thought the bolts looked like hands on the face of a ticking clock, but before I could examine any further it disappeared.

"Where do you want to be?"

The question made me feel uncomfortable, so I did not answer. Instead I changed the subject, looking up once again at the ominous statue. "Who is she?"

"She." He said simply.

Our eyes watched as a naked rabbit darted across the square, disappearing beneath a pile of wreckage. It appeared in a hurry for something, though I couldn't imagine what a rabbit could possibly be late for. On its way it knocked over a broken toy that clattered and spun on the pavement – a wooden rocking horse, carved with the likeness of dragonfly wings. "Why did she leave?"

The cat floated to my shoulder and we both stared at the girl's sharp, sculpted features. The broken hat seemed to wriggle, then jerk, then suddenly it flew off her head and skidded across the square, sliding and tumbling to land at my feet. I tilted my head curiously, and lifted it up, examining it.

"Why does anyone go anywhere?" Was his reply, he floated in front of me, watching gingerly.

"But, where did everyone else go?" I tried on the hat, but it was far too big for me and fell down to my nose. I tilted it back and saw that the cat was now across the square, sitting atop the statue's head, as if afraid she would become cold without the hat. I strode towards him, but stopped when my foot struck a metal object. It was a crown, broken and blackened, but a crown. It was studded with heart shaped rubies, though they were cracked and shattered. I kicked it away and let it bounce out of sight.

"Up." He said. His voice just as twisted and crazy as the environment, loose and free yet sharp and prudent. "Down. Sideways." Each word was like a laugh, an insane laugh. "Diagonal. Forwards. Backwards-"

"Ok, ok, I get it." I stopped when something glinted in the light, and went to investigate. Inside one of the cars hung a set of teacups from the rear-view mirror, like fuzzy dice. I pulled one free and turned it over in my hand. It was decorated with intricate swirls and lines, creating the picture of a sleepy mouse. I threw it up and caught it again, but now the image was of a raven, holding a quill. When I went to put it back, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Something was different... beneath my left eye was a tattoo of a rook, just a little black castle, barely the size of my pinky nail. It was as if a very small, sharp tear drop had been burned into my skin. _Curiouser._ "But why?"

"It is difficult for a dream to survive once the imagination is gone." The cat sighed, and nuzzled his head in the statue's metal hair, searching for comfort. "Forgotten things wither away, until they disappear altogether. Not much unlike the brittle pages of a book, or smoke in the wind." At the word 'smoke' his body seemed to swirl, like a mist, as if he was unable to keep a solid form for very long.

"Are you sad?" I asked, tilting my head curiously, trying to rub the rook away.

That question seemed to take him by surprise. "I am not anything." He slunk to the girl's shoulder. "I am the last, fading word in a lost story." He shrugged.

I pushed the hat back again, trying to hold it in place. I peered into the cracked shop windows, trying to see past the darkness. One was entirely covered by broken or stopped clocks, their gears and springs still twanging as they snapped. Another was filled with strange, multi-coloured smoke. There was yet another with a sign above the door read _'The Extinctatorium'_ and displayed in the window was a stuffed dodo, posed in a glass case. "Were you a hero in your story?"

"No."

"A villain?"

"No."

"A-"

"Are you a hero in your story?" He interrupted. He leaped onto the head of the horse the girl rode, sitting upright between its ears. His tail flicked back and forth patiently.

I frowned. "I don't know. Lately I'm not sure which story I belong to." I looked down, frowning. On the ground was a child's chalk drawing. A crude representation of two, round boys riding a walrus.

"You should find out, and soon." He looked up at the clouds as another explosion of lightning flew across the sky. "Time for you to go, give Gerald my regards."

My ears perked up. "You know Jerry?"

He smiled. It was so strange, seeing a cat smile, and I realized he had a set of human teeth, as if someone stuck a set of dentures in his mouth. A shiver ran up my spine, for some reason his smile seemed more frightening than warm. "Jerry knows me." His smile quickly turned into a cackle, and he rolled over and over in the air, paws holding his stomach, guffawing. His laughter echoed off the walls of the buildings, louder and louder. Some of the windshields in the cars imploded from the sound, and I tried to cover my ears, but he wouldn't stop. The hat fell over my eyes and the world turned black, and I had the sudden sensation that I was falling down a long hole until...

"Good morning."

The first thing I saw was L, and it brought a tired smile to my face. _Nothing better than waking up see a cute anime character staring at you intently. _"'Morning," I replied, and sat up, dream already fading. I yawned and stretched, arms reaching high above my head. I didn't notice L's gaze following my movements, or the way he pinched his knuckle, trying to distract himself. Still sleepy, I rubbed the corner of my eye, then winced. For some reason my skin felt raw right beneath my left eye. _Perhaps I slept on it funny. _

L sat across the balcony from me, knees brought up to his chest, thumb in its usual place on his bottom lip. He rested in the shade, just beyond the creeping edge of dawn's light. The dark flints of his eyes were deeper than usual, and softer, like black velvet. Normally his eyes were wide, watchful, aware of everything around them, but now they seemed clouded and half-lidded. He was deep in thought.

"Are you okay? Did you stay up all night?" I asked, scratching an itch on the bottom of my foot.

L didn't respond, instead he stood up and strode over with long, bold steps. His face gave nothing away. I leaned back, but had no escape route. He pressed his hand on the back of the chair beside my head, supporting his weight, and leaned close. For a single, earth shattering, blissful moment I thought he was going to kiss me. The way his eyes searched mine, his confidence. He was only a hair's width away now. Forget butterflies. A colony of grasshoppers exploded into a mad, leaping cloud in my stomach. I held my breath, frozen by his spell. I don't think I would have cared if someone lopped my head off in that moment. _It's almost..._

He reached with two long fingers, and pulled a spider by its leg from my hair. "Got it."

_...Perfect._ It took me a few seconds to realize what just happened, but when I did my embarrassment came upon me like an environmental disaster, a swirling tsunami carrying all my guilt and disappointment in a deadly wave. A rush of blood flooded my cheeks, and I blinked rapidly, unable to properly articulate the swear words that instantly came to mind. "You, L, you—"

He turned innocently. "Yes?"

My hands shook, and I clamped my mouth shut. What was I supposed to say? '_Why didn't you kiss me?' _I often forgot, L wasn't the romantic type. This was Death Note, not a shojo. I turned my head away begrudgingly. "Thanks." I muttered. It was then I noticed the blanket pooled at my feet. _Did L bring this out for me?_ I looked up at him again.

L stared out from the balcony, one hand in his pocket, shoulders bunched up at his ears. His hair drifted in the breeze, a jagged black flag against the brightening blue sky. He placed the struggling spider on the ledge and it started to limp away. "Did you know that the black widow, _l__atrodectus mactansm_ to be specific, when finished mating, kills and consumes the male?"

"I must have skipped that class," I replied, "and may I add 'ew'."

"Oh, it is quite a sight to see. Their mate rarely puts up a fight, so involved with their ecstasy, they barely notice as she tears into his flesh."

"You weren't hugged enough as a child, huh?" I pointed out.

"Does that not interest you though?" He asked softly. "How easy it is for a creature to give up their life for the one they love?"

"Definitely not hugged enough." I confirmed, but received no response from him.

The sun finally touched his face, and he casually stepped away from it, preferring the safety of shadow. And without hesitation, he squashed the struggling spider with his thumb. It's broken body squirted out juices and stained the balcony, and L brushed its carcass into oblivion. I've stepped on spiders before, but something about the action was eerie. A lump rose in my throat. I realized for the first time that L would make a fearsome villain. A different man with similar intellect could throw the entire world into chaos – like Light. I pondered that train of thought for a while. Often the anime showed Light and L as blue and red, opposites, good vs evil. But if I delved deeper, they were more like different sides of the same coin. They could easily have switched places, changed roles. _L could commit terrible crimes, if he wanted, and probably get away with them too..._

He looked tall from where I sat, and years older. He watched the city, a wise, tired owl observing a metal village of mice and shrews. But were the creatures of the steel forest his friends to watch over, or his meal?

I shivered in the breeze and rubbed my arms for warmth. I had never thought of L as scary before. Not cute L, candy loving L, L the hero-detective. But the thought of him being my enemy made me glad he was on my side. "I don't think it's strange."

He looked at me. "Pardon?"

"I don't think it's strange for someone to give up their life, not if they truly love the other."

"Ah," L said, pondering my words. "I would not know, I am not experienced in..."

A SHOOP interrupted the moment.

Matsuda peeked his head out onto the balcony. "Ella, why aren't you dressed yet?"

"Dressed for what?" I asked, irritable. I was just starting to get L to open up. _Why did Matsuda always have terrible timing? _For some reason, the image of a very late rabbit flashed through my mind. _I wonder what Matsuda would look like with bunny ears..._

Matsuda was wearing his best suit, and his hair was neatly combed back instead of its usual mess. His face fell. "The f-f-funeral, of course." He stuttered.

_Funeral…? Oh…Right._ "I forgot." I whispered, wringing my hands together. I was dreading this, I hated funerals. "We'll be right down."

Matsuda nodded and left.

"Correction, Miss Ella. _You_ will be right down."

My eyes shot up. _He's not going? _I quickly followed him into the hotel room and shut the door behind me. I turned around, then frowned, confused. "L, what are you doing?"

L was rummaging through a large metal trunk set in the center of the den's carpet. I hurried around it to get a better look. It's corners were rustic bronze, scuffed and scratched. It was crafted from a worn wood, once stained red, now peeling off in chunks. Its lock was a huge, heart shaped, and missing a key. It seemed large where it sat, its eighteenth century vibe clashing with the modern hotel décor. "Oh, this?" He asked as I stared over his shoulder. "I requested Watari to locate a suitable disguise for me." Inside the chest was a frilly sun umbrella, multiple hats, dress shoes, gowns, overalls, a clown wig, hiking boots, black lacy undergarments and a cravat.

I lifted up a pink bodice and pulled on a silk lace, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you a little old to play dress up?" I turned to look at him and stifled a laugh.

A top hat as tall as a chimney sat on L's head, tilting dangerously from his fly-away hair. "What do you think?" He asked, completely serious.

I held my hand to my mouth, hiding my smile. "I think," I said, and reached into the trunk, "that this will suit you better." I switched the top hat for a blue and violet coloured trucker's cap. I had to stand on tip toe to reach, and again felt a charge of electricity between him and I. For a moment, I thought I felt him lean towards me, as if to whisper something in my ear, but he pulled away. _I'm just imagining things. _"There. Much better." The hat had a wide lip and mesh on the back instead of fabric, and the small symbol of a raven on the velcro strap. It still had a price tag on it, swinging on its string. _1060 yen...huh, that's an odd price. _It really was a much better disguise - The hat squashed his wild hair, flattening it down around his ears and pressing against his neck, and the lip hid his recognizably large eyes in shadow. "L..." I said tentatively, "are you really not coming to the funeral?"

L took off the hat and his hair bounced back into place. "I have already paid my respects to Ukita and his family," he walked over the kitchen and began pouring a cup of tea from a steaming kettle, "there is no need."

I stared at the tea for a moment, experiencing an odd sensation of deja vu, then shook it off. I took a step forward, gesturing reasonably. "But, you _have_ to go. Aizawa will kill you if you d—"

"Aizawa does not trouble me, and should not trouble you. Watari has purchased you a dress for the occasion. It is in your room. I suggest you hurry." He took a sip from his tea, not turning around to face me.

_I'm not going to win this._

"Fine." I stormed off.

**A Short Drive Later...**

Police officers in their best formal wear stood all in a row, banking the procession. Ide, Aizawa, Mogi and Ukita's little brother carried the casket on their shoulders, all grim faced and serious. When they passed me, I hung my head in respect, but I could not help fidgeting. My shoes were too tight, my hair smelled like chemicals and worst of all was the dress. Under normal circumstances I looked ridiculous in dress, my arms are too muscled and my shoulders too broad to suit any neckline. I'm taller than the average girl, making me look like a lanky goose than a graceful swan. However, Watari must have been older than I thought because his idea of fashion required an eighteenth century style bodice, a dark bowed headband, black lace and a heavy skirt that made my kneecaps sweat. I was reasonably certain I looked like a matron ghost of the Victorian era come to walk the earth again. _I bet he got it from the same ridiculous costume shop where he purchased that stupid trunk._

An otherworldly wail interrupted my qualms. Everyone turned to look. Ukita's body passed before his mother, and she had started to shake. She was a short woman, with a strong jaw and big ears. Her hands held her head, and she was shrieking, ignoring her family's offers for comfort. Tears streamed down her cheeks, following the wrinkles in her face like rivets in a riverbed. She fell to her knees and sobbed with abandon, calling out her son's name.

The officer next to me cursed Kira beneath his breath.

I glanced at Light, ever the actor, who stood solemnly beside his father. He shook his head sympathetically. I wondered if he had overheard the officer, or if he felt anything at all for the woman. Even though Misa had killed Ukita, it all came back to Light. This was his doing. His evil infected more and more of the earth with each stroke of his pen, and instead of spilling ink, he spilled tears and blood.

_Where does it end? _I thought, watching him closely. The pang of failure still stabbed me, like a shard of glass forgotten inside my heart. And again, I questioned the point of my presence in this world. If I couldn't save Ukita, how could I save L? Was I destined to watch the events unfold as planned, left on the sidelines? Would I end up like Ukita's mother, crying over a dead loved one?

I glared at the ground, refusing to look as they placed Ukita on a stone slab. A man of god read a few words, and loved ones were permitted to say goodbye and pay their respects before they sent his body to the crematorium. Each visitor left an item or a flower near his body, and in one woman's case a kiss on his cold, clammy cheek. I stood to the back, beside Light. Neither of us knew Ukita long, or well enough to be included with family or friends.

I didn't mind. The further away I could get from all this...the better. It was all too familiar. The dresses and suits, the crying, the formality. _Saying goodbye._

A cool breeze drifted between my ankles, winding around my legs like an invisible boa. My skirt rustled and I smoothed the wrinkles from it, tucking my swirling hair behind my ear. I placed my hands behind my back and stood stiffly, too aware of who (or what) was standing beside me. I disliked how much taller Light was to me. Unlike L, who's height made me feel safe, Light's was intimidating. I kept getting the vibe that he was about to step on me, as if he were a giant steel-toed boot and I was an unlucky cockroach. I stole glances at him, but his sincere, polite expression never waned. As if his entire face was made from porcelain, perfect and timeless. His broad shoulders shifted as he moved a hand from his pocket to offer a handkerchief to a sobbing passerby. She thanked him and blew her nose, and he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

I rolled my eyes. _What? Are you trying to get laid, Light? _

Once the girl was out of ear shot he turned to me. "You look pretty today, _Sydney_."

The compliment took me by surprise. What sort of technique was that? Was he trying to kill me with kindness? It took me a moment to realize he had called me Syndey, not Ella. I knew he hadn't said my true name by accident. It was a threat, it had to be - a dagger he kept in his back pocket, ready to stab me the moment I let my guard down. I looked at him suspiciously. "Save the sweet talk for someone else, pal. I might be wearing a dress, but that doesn't mean I have to act like a lady." Before Light could open his mouth for a reply, his father strolled over. The Chief looked weary, he had slung his jacket over his shoulder and loosened his tie. "Light, Ella, we're on our way to the bar down the street."

"Bar?" Light asked. "Sorry, but that doesn't exactly sound like your scene, Dad." He said lightheartedly.

The Chief nodded. "I agree, but it was Ukita's last wish that the team all go out for a drink in his memory." He gave us a small smile. "He'd rather us party in his honour than mope, or so Aizawa will tell you."

"That's understandable," Light said, paused, looked thoughtful, then said "can Ella and I come, Father? I know I'm not of age, but I don't think anyone would mind if we bend the rules just this once."

I narrowed my eyes at him. What was the point of that? He must have some sort of angle...

"I'm not sure..." The Chief hesitated and looked at me uncertainly.

Light wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer. "I thought I could initiate Ella for her first drink," he said cheerfully, "it's always important for a young lady to be escorted by someone responsible."

RESPONSIBLE? I thought, appalled. Of all the words I would use to describe Light Yagami (murderer, psychopath, donkey breath - to name a few), responsible was not one of them. I tried to push him away, but he held me tightly. So instead I managed to smile. "It might be good for me," I said, wishing all sorts of pain and death on Light, "to let loose a bit, you know? Ryuzaki won't mind." _Fine, Light, you wanna play? Let's play. I'll go along with this, at least until I figure out your motive._

"Very well," The Chief said, seeing no reason to disagree.

"Great!" Like quipped. "We'll be right behind you." He rubbed my shoulder warmly and led me forward.

_No escape._

The walk to the bar was short and silent. We passed by Watari's car, and I saw him immediately pull out a cellphone and begin to dial. I_s he calling L? _I wondered, almost hopefully.

The bar was a hole in the wall sort of place, which was appropriate, since it was called _Down the Rabbit Hole_. With polished mahogany counter tops and soft yellow lighting, it proved to be a popular local hang out. A deer head hung from one end of the pub, a fancy gun from the war on the other, and paintings of dogs playing poker in between. At the moment it was a full house. All of Ukita's friends and family came to clink their cups in Ukita's name and drown their sorrows at the bottom of a glass. The din of voices was pleasant, full of funny stories about Ukita and kind memories.

Light sat us at the back, well away from prying eyes. Rather than sitting across from me, he sat beside me, making himself as close as possible in the booth. He smelled like spices and ink, spices because he liked to cook, and ink because...well, you know. Aizawa was in a spirited mood (helped along by a few whiskeys), and shouted that he was buying a round for the house, which was met with drunken cheers, applause and raised glasses.

A busty waitress with a frilly apron that was longer than her cocktail dress gave Light and I our share from Aizawa's generous mood, which took the form of two small shot glasses on a tray. The waitress batted her eyelashes seductively at Light, leaning a LITTLE too far over the table to set down his glass. _Damn_, I thought, _if I had ba-donker's like those I'd never have to steal again_. She shook her hips when she walked away, but instead of staring at her, Light turned to me. "You look cold."

I blinked, realizing for the first time that I was shivering. "Oh, well, it's drafty in here and..."

Without a second thought, Light shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it gently around my shoulders. The fabric was still warm from his body heat, and I found myself pulling it closer. When my ankle touched his, I quickly moved it away. _Why is he being nice? Didn't he nearly successfully murder me a little while ago?_

He lifted up his glass, watching me carefully. "To Ukita, and the brave men who fell behind him."

_Oh, he's evil. Absolutely evil. How dare he, acting like it wasn't his fault Ukita died. The jerk._ "You go ahead," I muttered, "I don't drink."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"I don't like what alcohol does to people." My thoughts drifted to my uncle, who stunk of booze half the time, and the way he...how he...I hung my head and fiddled with the bow on my hairband. "It makes people stupid."

Light laughed. "Does Ryuzaki keep you on such a tight leash that you can't let your hair down just once?"

"Ryu-what does he have to do with anything?"

"It's just, I haven't seen what benefit you bring to the investigation, aside from being Ryuzaki's pet."

The hair's on the back of my neck stiffened, like a cat raising its hackles before a fight. "Pet?" I shot the word back like a bullet from a loaded gun. "PET?"

_He's playing you, Sydney, don't let him. _The voice of reason at the back of my head said, trying to calm me down. _He wants to get you drunk, probably for some devious, evil, Kira-oriented plan._

Light shrugged and knocked back his shot, easy as lemonade. "I guess the stories are false then," he said, smacking his lips, "Canadians can't hold their liquor."

The reasonable voice at the back of my head was crushed – a poor, unfortunate Jiminy Cricket caught beneath Light's boot. Instead a second voice roared like a hungry lion, accepting the challenge.

He reached for the second glass, but I snatched it from him. Keeping my eyes locked on Light's, I swallowed the shot in one go. I had planned on keeping my cool, like him, but the alcohol unexpectedly burned my throat and stomach like liquid fire. Hot tears welled at the corner of my eyes and I coughed, sputtering. _People actually LIKE this stuff? _Light patted me approvingly on the back, laughing, and raised his arm. "Another round!"

**A Tower of Empty Shot Glasses Later...**

"Yo-o-u," she said the word long and drawn out, smiling coyly and pointing her finger at him, "tried to-to-to kill me." She giggled. "Y-you're soooooo bad."

Light smiled calmly, taking a long sip from my glass of beer. He licked the foam from his lips. Everything was going according to plan.

She had unclasped her bodice, leaving it to fall around her waist and exposing a thin undershirt, and taken off her shoes. Her undershirt was stained by a raspberry cocktail, and her skirt was hiked up to let her legs breathe. Her legs were crossed and one of her bare feet touched his knee, but this time she did not cringe away. At some point she had untied her hair and disposed of her bow, and she was wearing histie.

How he wanted to tighten that tie around that slender little neck and hang her from the rafters.

He had rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his dress shirt, but otherwise he was in much better shape than his opponent. Her thoughts seemed fuzzy and her sentences slurred, Light knew if she tried to stand she would fall over. Just like he guessed, her pride would be the end of her. The girl couldn't stand a slight to her character, and was determined to match him drink for drink.

At first.

It had been so simple to drop that pill in her drink, he didn't even think the thought occurred to her, not even once, that he was drugging her. It had been easy enough acquiring it, just a little extra push. If he could not scare her into submission, then perhaps he could receive her empathy, even her affection. It wouldn't kill her, it would do something much more pleasant, it would make her _want_ him. And once he had that..._Well, I believe the appropriate saying is 'off with her head'__. _His lips curved into a small, accomplished smile. Now she seemed to have forgotten her mission. Her face was flushed and her expression elated. She was enjoying herself, which was good. He needed her happy, needed her feeling safe. It wouldn't work if she didn't.

"Don't be ridiculous." He said, punching her playfully in the arm._ I still am trying to kill you, you stupid girl. _

"N-no-no. You, sir, are ridic...ridic...ridicalo." She found that extremely funny, and burst into another fit of giggles.

Swift and smooth, Light slid his arm around her. This time he felt no resistance or discomfort in her response. She was no longer cold, in fact, she was sweating now. "So," he said, pulling her closer and topping up her drink, which she began to sip bashfully, "my turn to ask a question."

"Sure, shoot."

"Are you and Ryuzaki..." He gestured with his hands, trying to find the right word.

"Oh no," she said, shaking her head quickly, "definitely not."

He laughed. "Good, you're an amazing woman. I'd hate to see you wasted on the likes of him."

"But he-he-he IS AMAZING!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air and leaning back, as if she were riding a roller coaster. "You have nooooooooooo idea."

_I can imagine. _He thought sourly.

"Now I hav-v-ve a queschan." She raised her finger in the air pointedly and closed her eyes. She had a concentrated look on her face. "Do Gods of Death like apple pie?" She looked at him for validation.

Ryuk burst into laughter, rolling upside down as he hovered above them. "You should see the look on your face!" His skin stretched tightly as he smiled big and broad. Sydney remained unawares that Ryuk's hideous face was merely a few inches away from hers, and probably for the best, his breath was rancid.

Light looked at her reproachfully. _She's not just a nuisance, she's a casualty waiting to happen._ "Well, I wouldn't know." He shrugged. "I haven't met any gods of death, that I know if that is."

Ryuk snickered. "I like how this one thinks, maybe she'll bake me an apple pie." Ryuk's face was all smiles. It was intriguing – the human immune to the definitive power of the shinigami was throwing herself into the hands of a murderous teenage boy. _No wonder the King wants an end to this kid, she's dumb as a dodo bird. _His big, lamp-like eyes flicked to Light's cool, well acted exterior. _And if she's a dodo, than Light is a griffon, ready to rip her throat out. Too bad, _he shrugged,_ things had just gotten curious._

Light resisted the urge to give Ryuk a reproachful look, it would not do to look as though he was criticizing empty air. _How does she even KNOW about that? He_ thought, frustrated. _Is she goading me? Or is she just _that_ dr_unk? "My turn to ask a question," he said quickly, before she said anything else. He thought long and hard for a moment, then the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a wicked smile. He moved closer to her, close enough to let her feel his hot breath on her neck. He opened his mouth to whisper in her ear. "If you had the power to end _anyone's_ life, would you?"

He saw all of her defenses melt immediately, completely taken by surprise from his sudden _personal_ question. "I..." her eyes shifted nervously.

"It's okay, you can tell me." His voice was soft and reassuring. "I'm the last person to judge you." He kept his voice soft, pleasant, honest. He could tell she was mulling it over, considering, but he knew her answer.

He saw her eyes travel around the room, making sure no one was in ear shot. Many of the mourners had already left, their spots being filled by young adults enjoying the night life. Matsuda was in a corner booth, surrounded on both sides by a row of giggling women. His face was red and his arms spread across all their shoulders, a beer in one hand. He was laughing with abandon. Aizawa had already passed out and been taken home with the Chief, who had declared himself the DD of the night. Mogi and Ide were playing a strip-trivia game near the bar – and losing. The closest people to them was a booth of enormous, colourfully dressed football buddies who sat all in a row, like a giant, rainbow caterpillar. But they were so engrossed in their cigars and poker that they paid them no mind (accept to send Sydney lustful leering looks every now and again, which Light quickly banished with a glare). No one was paying attention to them.

"Yes," she whispered, her eyebrows knitted together, confused.

"Do they deserve it?"

"Yes," she said, this time more firmly.

"What's their name?" _Is it _my_ name, stupid girl?_

She looked at him sharply, and he smiled a small, dark smile to himself. _No, not my name. But __you do know my secret. Did that fool shinigami, Scab, tell you?_ He had been gathering information from her this way all night, asking questions, making idle conversation, slipping in hints here or there, seeing how she responded. Ninety percent of all human language was accomplished with body movement. And as long as Sydney had a few drinks in her, she was an open book.

"I don't know..." she whispered, watching him with wide eyes. "But if I did...I wouldn't tell you."

"And why's that?" _Come on, I'm practically offering to kill him for you. Nothing says romantic like accomplices in murder._

She looked away darkly. "He's mine."

Now it was Light's turn to be surprised. He had read her wrong. _Perhaps she's more like me than I thought._ "Do you think Ryuzaki would do the same as you and I?"

She frowned. "No, he'd never understand." She focused on the umbrella in her drink, using the stick to push the ice cubes beneath the surface, and watching as they floated back up. She popped an ice cube in her mouth, and a drop of melted water hung from her bottom lip, bobbing up and down.

Light watched the drop, almost hungrily. The Shinigami King's offer was still fresh in his mind. Kill the girl, and L would be out of his life forever. But who was she to have a god of death want to kill her? What made her so important? "Yes, he'd probably arrest you." Light had been thinking very hard about the deal, and wasn't sure killing her was the best idea. Not yet. Oh, she'd die, he'd make sure of that. But why not _use_ her first?

She giggled again, and the drop of water ran down the corner of her mouth and dripped down her neck. "He _does_ like handcuffs."

Light raised an eyebrow, then pushed the glass towards her. _Does she even know what kind of signals she's sending off right now?_ Many of the younger men at the bar had their eyes on her (and a few of the older ones too). Three had sent over drinks, hoping to whisk her out from Light's grasp, but he would not let go. _Not a single man can out-charm me._ The pill helped as well. He could tell the drug had taken affect in her system. Her cheeks were the colour of soft rose petals, her eyes were foggy, and the back of her neck was sweating. She seemed sleepy and her movements lucid, as if she were in a dream. "I think we got off on the wrong start." He said, pleased as she gulped down another half a glass. "You and I, we could be good friends."

"Maybe, if you weren't-"

"Who I am." He feigned a sorrowful sigh. _Here it is, the grand finale._ "I'm not evil, you know. But if I must play that part to right the wrongs in that world, so be it."

She looked at him uncertainly, as if seeing a completely different person. "You love your family..." She said, matter of factly.

"Yes." He said truthfully, but his words quickly slipped into a spry, intelligent lie. "I'm trying to make a better world for them, for mother and Sayu, even father." Light's eyes flashed victoriously, if he had her empathy, he had her. _And I will be a god of that new world, and you another unmarked grave stone._

"Then you should stop," she grabbed his hand pleadingly, "no one else has to die."

"We all die at some point," he said softly. _This is too easy. She's so gullible. It's as if she really WANTS to save me._ "But," he placed his hand beneath her chin and lifted her head up. Her eyes were clouded from the alcohol and the drug, she wasn't thinking clearly. She leaned into him, lacking the strength to support herself anymore. _Perfect_. "Perhaps...if I had someone to help me..." He leaned closer...

Piece of cake.

The kiss was soft and passionate. She tasted like alcohol, but so did he. _That's it,_ he thought, _second guess yourself. I'm not all bad, am I?_ He bit her bottom lip, pulling on it. She tried to jerk away, but her attempt was weak, he kept one hand beside her neck, keeping her still. He smiled inwardly. This kiss was much different than their first. _You like it, don't you, stupid girl? How long has it been since you've been kissed by a man?_

Light saw L first.

The detective appeared to be breathing heavily, as if he had run all the way here. His clothes clung to his body, hinting that it must have been raining, and his hair was damp and flattened by an absurd looking hat. _Is that supposed to be a disguise? The price tag is still on it for goodness sake._ The door slammed behind him, and he left wet, dark puddles on the floor. His eyes scanned the bar, searching, until...

The _look _on his face.

Light watched L from one eye, daring him to interrupt. _How do you like that, L? Me stealing your woman right from under you? I hope you enjoy my little show, it's just for you. _And with that thought he stuck his tongue in her mouth. She tried to pull away again, but he gripped her hair and pulled her head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue battled with hers, but in the end he won, exploring her mouth further. When he moved his hand to her hip, that's when he felt a set of long fingers grip his shoulder. He pulled himself away and turned. "Oh, Ryuzaki. Small world. You remember Ella." He kept his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "Ella, aren't you going to say hello to Ryuzaki?"

**Ella's POV**

I fucked up.

I knew he was playing me, I KNEW he was. And he was enjoying it too, I could tell. But the more I matched him drink for drink, the more that didn't seem to matter. Something was overcoming me, something strong and pleasant and horrible at the same time. My whole body was on fire, I felt as if I was wearing a parka in Palm Beach, not an undone dress in an air conditioned bar. I wanted to dive into my glass of tango twist and float there, relaxing next to an ice cube. Instead I was trapped, having a civil conversation with a killer, and he didn't seem so bad.

An uncomfortable, unfamiliar sensation started tingling in my stomach. I kept my legs crossed, squeezing my thighs together tightly, trying to eliminate the warm elation. I didn't want to feel _that, _not now, not for him. But it didn't go away. A boy had never made me feel that way before. With L, it was more a pure, girlish, excitement. All butterflies and sunshine and rainbows, and made me happy. But this – this was salsa dancing and red dresses and tequila. This was passion, a wild animal that took your common sense hostage and encouraged you to take risks. And the more we he talked, joked, laughed, the more attractive Light became, and the more L's face started to fade from my memory.

Now it was getting hard to breath, and the heat was almost unbearable. When he leaned towards me, tempting me, my legs went limp, like Mr Noodles. I couldn't move away. Sparks fizzed in my body, erupting like a shaken soda can.

And the _kiss. _The weight of his mouth crashed into mine and my fizzing sparks exploded into loud, bright fireworks. His lips were soft and warm and wet, and he knew how to use them. I wanted to resist, I _tried, _but my body had other plans. Instead of pulling away, I felt as if I was melting, right into Light Yagami's dangerous, murdering arms.

But all of a sudden, cracking the moment like a speeding baseball to a window, was L.

The _look_ on his face.

I hate myself.

I cast Light's hands away and tried to stand, wobbling. I saw two L's instead of one, and both were blurred. "I...I didn't..." I hiccuped and hung my head, shutting my eyes tightly, hiding from the spinning world, "I'm so sorry!" My shaking legs knocked into the table, and the tower of shot glasses tumbled, rolling, and crashed to the floor. Now the bar had fallen to an eerie hush, all eyes were on us.

For a moment L didn't say anything. He quickly hid his expression beneath the shadow of his cap, giving nothing away. "Sorry? Why should you be sorry?" He mumbled. His arms hung limply at his sides, and his shoulders were more slumped than usual.

I opened my eyes slowly. He wasn't mad?

"What you do with your free time..." His eyes flicked to Light. "And _who _you do them with is not my concern." He said calmly. "I merely had a change of heart and came to pay my respects." He turned, but I grabbed his elbow.

"Don't, don't say that." I whispered, my voice cracking. _He was lying, he _was_ angry. _I shook my head, holding back tears. I must have still been drunk because the burning embers beneath my skin were still there. Something was wrong, something was terribly, awfully, monstrously wrong. "Please. It was a mistake. I'm not-I can't...think, I-"

"Watari is waiting outside to take you back, _if _you're coming back tonight, of course." His words were formal, but he yanked his elbow away from my touch sharply, as if I repulsed him.

I was horrified.

Light stood up valiantly, ever the shining knight. "Ryuzaki, don't take it out on her."

L did not turn around, did not even look at me, but he did look at Light. I couldn't see their expressions from here, but the air buzzed with a menacing energy.

"I'm just trying to help." Light said, keeping form. But despite the concern he showed, I knew he was enjoying this.

Both tensed, and for a moment I thought L was going to punch Light. Light raised his hands, palms up, welcoming the fight. But instead L curtly nodded. "My apologies," he said to the room, "I did not mean to interrupt your mourning, you have my regrets." He turned, and without a glance at me, left. The door swung shut behind him, and thunder flashed through the windows, casting the room's population half in bright, blinding white light, half in shadow.

The silence was broken by the thunder, everyone turned and muttered to their neighbour.

_You got what you wanted, didn't you, Light? How's L ever going to trust me now? _My thoughts returned to our conversation that morning, about betrayal and love. _Was he trying to tell me something? _I held my hands to my mouth, biting my fingers. _Does that make me a poisonous black widow? _ My knees knocked together and my ankles gave way, I dropped to the floor. _It's too hot...I can't..._I hung my head, hiding my steaming tears with my hair. _Light, you, what did you do to me?_ I trembled, and Light knelt down next to me, offering to help me up.

"This is your fault." My lip quivered, and I sniffed. I did not accept his hand.

Light grabbed my shoulders and squeezed – tighter than necessary. He leaned forward slowly, brushed my hair aside and whispered in my ear. "Everything is going to be okay. Let me take care of you."

I looked at him – _really _looked. _He's a liar._ I jerked away from his touch. _He schemes and he plots and he lies. He's cruel. This was his plan. To make me trust him, just enough, until I screwed up. _THAT was the nature of Death Note, not romance or car chases, like I seemed to pursue. But lying. _I'm just a stupid fangirl, and I've ruined everything. _My head reeled, the room was still spinning. I needed L to listen to me, if he didn't, I'd never be able to stop him from chasing the course of events that lead to his doom. _I just let suspect number one stick his tongue down my throat. L probably thinks I'm conspiring with the enemy. How else would I know so much? _"I feel sick."

I pushed Light aside and ran for the door, finding it difficult to gather my bearings. I slammed into it and fumbled with the handle, before falling out into the storm.

"L! Wait!"

_End of Chapter 25_

I know, I know, I'm evil. But I HAD to make her mess up. She's Sydney, she's Canadian, but she's still human. (Don't hate me! This Chapter kinda wrote itself) And thanks for all your reviews, they're what keep me going! (You reviewers are crazy, but crazy is a good thing, no?)

Satchelle

PS:

Caught ALL my Alice in Wonderland shout outs in this chapter?


	26. The Storm

**Chapter 26**

Each droplet of rain felt like the graceful patter of a dancer's feet against a blank stage. By itself a single drop was barely noticeable, just a wet kiss blown to the audience or the tip toeing of a tap artist's heels - but there were THOUSANDS. They beat at my face like the drums of a warrior's march, stinging my cheeks and robbing my warmth. The spray assaulted my skin, sheering away at it like a barber's knife. And the wind - it roared all around me, an angry lion bellowing his call. It whipped me back and forth, unable to make up its mind, sharp as an arrow and strong as an ocean's wave. When I first stepped outside, I became under the impression that I somehow had been transported to an underwater metropolis. It felt more like swimming than walking.

I shielded my squinting eyes from the pinpricks of the downpour, but it did no good. I was blind as a bat wearing earmuffs, and drunk at that. Soaked to the bone and chilled to my heart - it took only seconds before I felt half drowned.

"L!" I shouted into the stormy mirth, straining to listen for a reply breaking through the whistling wind and claps of thunder. _One step in front of the other, Sydney. _I thought, trying to reassure myself. So I put my right foot in front of my left, but instead of bringing me to safety, I stepped out in front of a car.

I screamed as the road lights sped past me, bleating their horn in warning. I stumbled backwards and fell onto the concrete, stunned. The car's spinning tires dipped into a gutter's puddle and a black wall of water rose into the air. It crashed on top of me, cold and cruel - Poseidon's giant hand reaching out to slap me with his icy fury. I sputtered water from my mouth. _On the bright side, it's not like I can get any more wet._ I thought miserably as I wiped a sopping clump of hair from my forehead. I wobbled to my feet, still unsteady, and continued to lumber down the sidewalk. I used the bricked sides of buildings, parked cars, withered trees and even garbage cans to keep on my feet. My legs still felt like jello, and everything was covered in a cloudy haze. Without my basic senses or any idea where I was going, I had effectively lost myself in the storm.

If I were a fishing boat and this a violent sea - I'd be sinking.

From what I could make out, the streets were deserted. Smarter pedestrians than I had gotten out of the weather's way long before it hit, taking refuge in mini marts and restaurants. I gritted my teeth and struggled against the wind, aware that people were watching my losing battle from behind the safety of glass. I weakened with each step, and the more I breathed in, the more my lungs burned. The sensation in my stomach had not gone away, quite the contrary. It had spread like a virus in my blood, stretching through my veins into my fingers and toes like hot embers drifting into the air from a crackling fire. Now my whole body tingled uncomfortably, begging me for some sort of relief.

Lightning flashed and the jagged crack of the sky's fire struck the lamp above my head. I ducked, and tried to cover my head with my hands as sparks and glass fell onto my shoulders and hair, mixing with the rain. I dropped to my knees, a dead weight, shaking. _I'm never going to find him._ I realized. The city was just a maze, an impossibly complex maze of iron and concrete. _And if I keep going, no one is ever going to find me. _I braced myself on my knees, trying to stand. Shards of glass chimed as they slipped to the ground, cast away by my shivers. _Just a little farther. _

The haze was brighter now, a cream colour that turned sharp corners and shapes into a translucent blur. Lights shone brighter, spinning like rainbow-coloured star bursts. Sounds were either dulled to murmurs or pitched into shrieks like nails on a chalkboard. Even movements felt slow and deliberate, as if I was wading through a pool of honey. I couldn't handle it anymore. I collapsed, toppling head over heel. I managed to crawl into an alley, somewhat shielding myself from the rain. I leaned against a dumpster, legs extended, arms limp. The lid was open, providing me with a makeshift roof, but made the already disgusting smell escape into a rancid cloud. Something foul and green dripped from a crack in the corner, mixing in the swirling white rapids of sewer drains beside my pale thighs. I could hear squeaking echoing from beneath the dumpster, and wondered if I wasn't the only living creature to take refuge here. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw the wet, pink nose of a rat sniff my foot.

_I left my shoes back at the bar..._

I was always losing my shoes these days. My feet were caked in slippery mud, and despite my shivering, I couldn't escape the flood of fire that erupted in sonic waves from my chest, spreading through my body. _What's happening to me? _I leaned my head back, closing my eyes and listening to the rain beyond the alley, turning the streets into rivers and the parks into muddy pools. _Oh L, where are you? _I wondered if he was trying to find me too.

_I'll wait, _I thought as sleep overcame me, giving in to my exhaustion, _I'll wait forever if I have to. _

My dreams were haunted by mysterious, neon purple smiles and dancing red shoes, tapping...tapping...tapping...

Tap.

Tap-Tap.

"You awake?"

I moaned and let my head fall to my shoulder, too weak to stand. _Go away. _I thought. _I have a headache. _

"My friend, I'd say I found ourselves a stray kitty cat." A slippery voice said, full of poison.

"Leave the woman be, she looks half dead." Another voice said sternly. This one was gruff and older, and as he stepped closer the smell of cigarettes filled my nose, mixing with the rotting trash.

"Naw, just OD. She looks like she's been drugged up to her eyeballs, doubt she'd even remember it." A hand brushed my cheek, sliding down along my neck gently.

Alarm bells, distant and muted, rang in my ears. I tried to open my eyes, but my lids felt heavy, as if they were glued down.

"I said leave her."

"Aw, come on, she don't bite, do you kitten?"

_Want a bet? _I growled inwardly, but instead of saying that, I only mumbled incoherently, my eyes fluttering.

"Just look at her, she's ripe, this one. She's burning up! You like my touch, kitten? Does it make you hot?" His sausage-like fingers drifted to my collarbone, greasy and wet from rain.

Before they could go any further south, my hand shot up, grabbing his. "Walk away," I muttered, my eyes still closed.

"Woah," he laughed, amused, "she's still got some fire in her. All the other girls ever do is cry and squeal, and they _do _get so boring." He grinned maliciously and leaned close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath. "I like that." He whispered in my ear, chuckling deeply. "Must be your American blood." His other hand moved up my leg, gliding to my inner thigh.

I punched him square in the jaw.

He fell back into a large puddle and floundered there for a moment, holding his cheek, affronted.

My willpower battled against my screaming muscles, and I forced myself to stand. I was a poor sight, with shaking knees and slumped shoulders. I used the dumpster to pull myself up, and clenched my fingers on the rim, fearful that if I let go I would fall again. "I'm," I huffed, glaring at them from behind jagged bars of dripping hair, "Canadian."

I got a good look at the two from where I stood. The one who kept calling me 'kitten' was a thin man, tall and stocky, like a scarecrow. His hair was slicked back, either by rain or gel I couldn't tell. He had large, wet eyes and a bushy brow, with thin lips. The other was tall as well, but broad of shoulder and thick of neck, like a gorilla. A dark fuzz grew on his chin, suggesting days of neglecting his razor. He had serious, cold eyes, calculating and dark beneath a scrunched up brow, as if it took a lot of energy for him to think.

I expected Scarecrow to walk away, a meal that fought back was not worth the effort, but instead he started to laugh again. "Well, well, this kitten has claws." He hopped to his feet with ease and stalked towards me, taking his time.

_He knows I can't run away. _I thought suddenly. And it was true. That punch stole the last of my energy, barely being able to stand, I was a sitting duck. _I just have to scare them away. _"My boyfriend is coming to pick me up," I said, lifting my chin up bravely, "he's big, you better clear off before he gets here."

"Get the car," Scarecrow told Gorilla, smiling a wicked smile at me, "she ain't got nobody." He slammed me against the wall, leaning close to plant his disgusting nose in the crook of my neck. He breathed in deep. "You smell delicious enough to devour, kitten."

"I wouldn't," I spat in his face, "I'm covered with disease. Got diagnosed a week ago."

"Oh really? You look pure enough to me, no whore flushes like that at a stranger's touch," he moved his hand to my hip, rubbing up and down. "Will I be your first, kitten?"

_Damn my blush. _The fire in my body rippled in response, but I swallowed it down. "I have the police on speed dial in my pocket, they're just around the corner."

"I don't hear no sirens, kitten, and you'd best be stopping with those lies. I might hurt you." He bit at my ear, and I tried to throw him off, but he kept me trapped with his body.

"HELP! SOM-" Before I could finish my cry, he clamped his hand over my mouth. I bit down on his finger, drawing blood, and he let go, but only long enough to slap me.

His strike sent me careening to the ground, rubbing my face in mud. He must have been wearing rings, because I felt blood in my mouth, and the world started to spin again. Everything felt detached, I barely noticed the rain anymore. I watched as red droplets fell from my bottom lip to mix with the whirlpool of water, creating tiny tsunamis that rippled out of existence. My breath made faint, swirling white clouds in the cold air._ L...help..._

His hand grabbed my shoulder and he flung me on my back. He was blurred too, a ghost behind a vale of rain and steam. All I could see was a horrendous, eager smile on his lips, flashing down at me. I felt his fingers dig into my stomach, and he pulled back, ripping the buttons from what was left of my dress. I reached up, trying to push him back, but his arms were longer than mine. He slapped me again, then again, until I quietened. _Help me..._L...

"Don't worry, kitten." His hand cupped my face. "You'll like what I have in mind."

"Monster." I spat at him again, and he grabbed my chin, pushing my head back and grinding it into the pavement.

"Oh, kitten, I'm not a monster." Keeping me down with one hand, he tore at the strap of my undershirt and straddled me. "Just a man who knows what he wants."

I shut my eyes tightly, holding back tears. _PLEASE! L! You have to help me!_

And, as if by magic, Scarecrow was gone.

His weight was lifted, and I could breathe again. I gasped for air, receiving a mouthful of smoke-flavoured rain. I coughed weakly, and let my head fall to one side.

A man, cast in shadows, ruthlessly threw Scarecrow against the dumpster, who slumped down into the mud and leaking garbage. The man first stomped on Scarecrow's ankle, making him howl like a wounded dog, then lifted Scarecrow up by the collar and punched him once, twice, three times. Scarecrow's head rolled limply, his chin touching his chest. His face was covered in immediate black and purple bruises, and swollen in such a way that he looked like a cauliflower with ears. Blood dripped from his nose, and he was now missing a tooth.

I felt a large, powerful arm grab me by the waist and lift me up from behind. Cold steel pressed threateningly against my neck and I lifted my chin back, trying to avoid its deadly touch. "Drop him." Gorilla said simply.

I couldn't see well from here, but the mystery man let go of Scarecrow, who fell to his knees, sniffling. The man walked towards us, but he stopped when Gorilla applied pressure with his knife. "No closer, the girl is coming with us. Now back away. Slowly."

The man did not move.

"Did you hear me, freak?" Gorilla pressed harder and I whimpered as I felt it sting against my neck.

The man lifted his hands submissively, bowed his head and took small steps backwards, further and further away.

_No! Don't leave me! _I thought, panicked. I tried to pull Gorilla's arm away, gritting my teeth against the knife's bloody kiss, but it was no use.

Scarecrow shot the man a look of loathing, then limped to his feet, chuckling. "Watch it," he told Gorilla, "you don't want to damage the goods." He looked at me with that similar, carnivorous glint in his eyes. "I hear American girls are a delicacy."

It all happened very fast. Before another laugh could escape his creepy lips, my mystery man took two quick steps forward and grabbed Scarecrow's head with one hand. And with seemingly very little effort, as if he was merely casting away a piece of litter, slammed his head against the brick wall. Scarecrow's cheek and one eye bulged from the force as half his skull seemed to flatten. Blood splattered from where his ear scraped the rock, and a trail of it stained where he slid to his knees, stunned.

"She's Canadian," the man said.

_That voice..._

Gorilla looked at him uncertainly. He tried to back away, but the man took him at a sprint. Bending low, he struck Gorilla at the knee, who cursed as he stumbled backwards. The man dropped to his hands and spun his leg out like a break dancer, kicking an already unstable Gorilla onto his back. Gorilla let go of me. His knife clattered on the ground, bounced, winked red in the dull yellow street light then disappeared in the storm drain.

_I know that voice..._

The man bent back his leg to kick Gorilla in the face, but my attacker had other plans. Faster than he looked, he grabbed the man's leg and yanked on it, sending him to the ground as well. Still holding his leg, he swung him like a sack of flower, tossing him into a set of garbage cans. Gorilla barrelled into the man, bludgeoning his giant fists into his stomach, again and again and again.

I couldn't stand up, I couldn't move, I could only watch. Scarecrow, sensing the tides turning in his favour, was crawling in my direction, a determined expression frozen on his mutilated face, his eyes wild.

I thought the man had passed out, from how limp he looked. Gorilla thought so too, because he stopped hitting him – just for a second. It was enough. The man grabbed two garbage can lids and clapped them together over Gorilla's ears, making a BONG sound. Gorilla cried out in pain. The man propelled himself between Gorilla's legs, swung back gracefully and elbowed Gorilla on the spine along the back of his neck. Gorilla dropped like a dead weight in water. The man stomped on Gorilla's head, squishing it into a pile of garbage bags for good measure.

He adjusted his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, then strolled casually towards a frightened Scarecrow. He lifted him up by the elbow. "You're a monster," Scarecrow whispered, sputtering from his swollen lips.

That's when the man started to laugh. _I know that laugh..._ It was harsh and cruel, a laugh of superiority and domination. "No," he said, "I'm just a man who knows what he wants." He kicked Scarecrow in the jaw, and my attacker slipped into painful unconsciousness.

_I know you..._

My saviour strolled forward and the shadows lifted from his face, like a widow's vale. "Well, do I get a thank you?" He said.

_Light? _

I fainted.

Light lifted an eyebrow with a grandiloquent air, looking down at Sydney with severity. Her chest shuddered with each inhale, and she wheezed quietly with every exhale. Her body was covered in splatters of blood and mud. Her clothing was torn to rags, barely covering her modesty. Her eyebrows angled back and down, giving her a sad, weak expression. Her face was reddened from fever and a deep gash slashed down from her bottom lip.

Before he did anything, he inspected the two men's wallets, making note of their names for later. He returned to Sydney, who mumbled something quietly. More gently than he should, he slipped one arm beneath her legs and the other beneath her arms. He hefted her up princess-style, grunting. _She's heavier than she looks. _She leaned her head against his chest, her breathing evening out.

"Ooh, Light the hero." Ryuk taunted, floating backwards. "Rescuing damsels in distress where ever he goes."

"Of course," Light said calmly, walking down the street, "what else would be expected of the innocent, police chief's son?"

"You _could_ have left her, no one would have known any different." Ryuk pointed out, and watched Light with fascination. "Why didn't you?" He pointed a long, sharp finger accusingly at Light's forehead.

Everything about Ryuk was sharp. From his grotesque, misshapen torso, to his long, gangly limbs to his electrified, raven blue hair. His teeth were pointed, shark-like and jagged, the kind of teeth used to tear into flesh, though Light had never seen Ryuk consume anything other than apples. His black-lipped smile stretched from ear to ear, and his nose was upturned, almost flat, like a snake's. Light couldn't tell if the black, wrinkly rags that spanned the extent of his body was clothing, or a part of his skin. The feathers on his shoulders and wings rustled softly in the wind, though his hair remained stiff and straight. He must favour jewellery because his knuckles were adorned with silver rings, some shaped like skulls, others that shone with an eerie green leer. His clasped belt was strapped with silver chains as well, keeping his death note and skull-tipped pen close at hand. He wore bracelets, one thin and simple, another that looked like an otherworldly shackle, as if he had been locked up before and kept it as a memento. He even wore an earring, a spear-like heart that swung every time he laughed. Light always thought it was an odd fashion statement, considering that Ryuk had once told him Shinigami didn't have hearts. The skin from his neck up was the colour of dry ice, like a corpse, and in the black of night his body melted with the darkness until he looked like a floating, twisted head. He carried the scent of blue blood, cold with iron, and the sensation of death followed him like a spiked tail, wicked and thrashing.

Light closed his eyes as he turned the corner. "Isn't it obvious?"

Ryuk scratched his skull and his white skin moved grotesquely, as if it were a rubber mask.

Light glanced down at Sydney's figure, she was slumbering soundly, her face relaxed, lost to the world. He didn't answer, he didn't need to. Ryuk would discover his plans soon enough, and Light had found it was best to keep the death god intrigued – he was more cooperative that way. Travel to his house was long and silent, he took the back way, the less curious eyes watching them the better. Eventually, when the moon was low in the sky, he reached his neighbourhood. He strode up his walk-way. His house was silent and dark, everyone was asleep. He winced as he nudged open the front door, his stomach still sore from where that giant beat him. _She'll pay for putting me through the trouble._ He kicked off his muddy shoes and carried her up the stairs. He strode softly, avoiding the creaking spots in the carpet. He could hear his father snoring in the other room, and the music from the headphones Sayu wore before she went to bed.

Once Light was safely locked in his own room, he laid Sydney down on his bed, making sure her head rested on his pillow. She responded to the comforting sensation of blankets by grumbling and squirming deeper into the mattress. _I'll have to buy new sheets now. _He thought disdainfully as all the gunk of the alley she was in rubbed off on his duvet. He unbuttoned his shirt and cast it in the garbage beside his desk – he would never get the blood out. He switched for a black shirt, but didn't bother to button it, instead he looked at the damage to his abdomen in the mirror. His skin was greying around his stomach, and he had somehow acquired a small cut on his forehead, but otherwise he remained unhurt. He applied antiseptic and a small bandage to the mini-wound, then turned to Sydney.

Looking at her made him feel sore.

Blood and mud and rain created a glue-like substance in her hair, her eyes were red and puffy, her lip broken. The man must have tried to strangle her at some point because her neck was bruised, along with the her wrists. A small slice parted the skin around her throat from where the knife cut her, but it was already scabbing over. Her knees, elbows and feet were scraped, the wounds littered with specks of dirt and gravel. Her clothing was ruined, and would have to be burned. He remembered that her undershirt had once been white, but now it was red and black, with the straps broken, exposing her shoulders and the curve of her ample cleavage. Her skin was soaked with sweat, it ran down her body in streams, and her cheeks were red as apples. He sat next to her and felt her forehead, then drew his hand away sharply. _She's burning up. _

He disappeared for a moment, then returned with a wet cloth and an ice pack. He worked systematically and logically, cleaning her the best he could. He took care not to wake her, applying bandages where necessary, and set the ice pack across her forehead, pushing back her hair. _I can see why he likes you, stupid girl. _

She had a heart shaped face and a pretty mouth, when it wasn't bruised. Her skin was clear, aside from an ugly pattern of freckles and a few hints of acne scarring. Her nose was round and upturned, which was nice enough, though her ears reminded him of an elephant. She was fuller than most girls strove to be, and despite her oddly shaped man-like muscles he could tell she enjoyed her junk food from the generosity of her stomach, thighs and chest. She had a weathered look about her, reminding him of tough leather and suggesting she spent more than a few nights outside on the streets. Her eyebrows were a little thick, but it gave her expressions definition. Where a girl's hands and feet were supposed to be soft, hers were tough and calloused. Her hair needed desperate maintenance, although its length and volume made up for it, giving her a wild, exotic feel. She had a very ordinary, simple beauty to her, though she wasn't to Light's taste.

_I bet you don't even know you're pretty, do you? _The way she acted and dressed certainly made him believe so. She behaved more like a boy than a girl, and the first time he had seen her in a gown that wasn't hospital-required she had acted as she was wrapped in barbed wire.

A harsh wind burst into the room, blowing his curtains and rustling the pages of his text books.

"_What _are you _doing_?" A voice squealed from the open window. The midget shinigami, Scab, floated into the room, his face contorted with fury and disbelief. "You're supposed to be _killing _her, not rescuing her! I thought we had a deal!" His spit was the colour of green acid, and slobbered from his sagging jaw as he screamed.

Ryuk snickered, enjoying Scab's enraged, crazy looks.

"I never said _when_ Iwas going to kill her," Light replied solemnly.

"This is unacceptable! The King is not a patient-"

"What is convenient for this _King _is no concern of mine." Light said coldly. "He is not _my _King and cannot order me to do anything. I will take care of the girl when and if I choose to do so."

Ryuk stopped laughing. "Li-ight," he said carefully, "you know the big guy himself listening, don't you? You might want to..."

"Then he can listen to this – I am no one's puppet. The only god of this new world will be me, no one else. If he has a problem with that, he can come speak to me directly."

Scab's eyes bulged. "The King does not take orders from a filthy human like you! He will not be happy with your insolence. We have other ways, other human who _will _obey!"

"Then by all means, use them. Now get out." Light waved his hand dismissively.

For a moment, Ryuk thought Scab was going to boil himself until he melted, from how his face burned. But instead, Scab's eyes glowed dangerously. "You don't want me as your enemy, human. Sleep on this decision, I _will _be back." He drifted backwards, disappearing through the wall and into the night.

Ryuk turned to Light, who was staring at Sydney. The boy had a concentrated expression on his face, the same expression he got whenever he was hatching a plan. "I don't understand. I thought you _wanted_ L to die."

"Not yet. L has made it very clear. If he were to die suddenly, especially if it were directly after Sydney's death, I would be the only suspect, and all fingers would point to me." He pinched the bridge of his nose, tense. "This plan needs _time._"

"You heard Scab, the King is not patient, unless he's torturing somebody – he can make _that _last centuries." Ryuk scratched his bracelet with an ill look on his face.

Light ignored Ryuk's warning. "There is something I've been meaning to ask you, Ryuk. I've read the Death Note's rules over and over, and something isn't making sense. Shinigami shouldn't be able to travel to the human world for just _anything, _they can only do so under special circumstances, and even then only for a short amount of time. Why is this new shinigami, Scab, able to do so without any defined reason at all?"

Ryuk shrugged. "No clue. Guess he's special."

"No," Light's eyes glittered as he stared at Sydney's peaceful face, "something about the game has changed. Ever since _she_ came into the equation, nothing is following the set rules. Shinigami come and go to request _her _demise, _she _can't be killed by a death note, and this King has taken a special interest in _her_. Why_? _What makes her so special? It's complete chaos."

Ryuk floated closer, his own eyes shining a bright red and yellow, like sunlight streaming through thin, autumn leaves. "I thought you liked chaos?"

A smile crept onto Light's face, a slow burn of intelligent malice that cast deep, jagged shadows along the lines of his skin. "I do."

_End of Chapter 26_

Hello fellow fans! Hope you liked the chapter (I took a sick day from work to write it). Love hearing from all my faithful followers, and it's cool reading from new people who haven't reviewed before too. (I've been checking out your profiles and stories too, and everyone is just so AWESOME). Lemme know your thoughts, it helps SUBSTANTIALLY. (I'm not _begging _for reviews _per se..._).

From the author who is going to get in trouble from her boss tomorrow,

-Satchelle


	27. Pancakes

**Chapter 27**

"You know, I'm getting really sick of waking up in unfamiliar places." I said, my voice dripping sardonically. I flicked some dirt from my shoulder nonchalantly and shuffled my feet, making myself comfortable in a sitting position. I rested my arms on my knees and glared at the pawnshop owner with tired derision.

"Oh, come now. Don't tell me you don't appreciate all this!" He gestured widely with his arms, as if embracing the stars like a father hugs his children.

I looked up, my eyes searching the sky. The violet light of a million stars reflected in the blackness of my eyes, twinkling and swirling. Meteors cut across the expanse, white tears in the sparkling fabric of space. We stood on a sheer cliff, facing an inky sea. A gigantic moon lighted the horizon with its eerie blue glow. Further out amongst the frothing swirl of the ocean's volatile temper, no doubt a direct result from the proximity of the moon's gravitational pull (don't look so surprised, I DID show up to class sometimes), was an orange beacon. It flickered angrily, spouting fuzzy streams of light into the sky, as if attempting to singe the moon. It was a volcano, larger than any on earth, for sure. It roared quietly in the distance, too far away to do us any harm, yet close enough to still feel its warm air drift across our faces. The cliff was covered in a green fungus, dotted with yellow flowers that reached towards the volcano, drinking in its energy.

I blew a strand of hair from my face, unimpressed. "To be honest, I think I prefer Tokyo." I kept a watchful gaze on Jerry. Not only had he lied to me, but he had directly put me into harms way back on that pillar of ice – and treated it like a game. Some sort of test. I wasn't going to take him lightly any more. Jerry was dangerous.

Jerry did not turn to face me. Half his body was encased in the fiery glow of the volcano, the other half in shadows. "This was once a grand civilization. Imagine if you will, a floating city on the water, tall spires of silver, with white sailed ships flying through the air." He sighed. "Of course, as usual, a bit too ambitious. Made the mistake of trying time travel a _bit _too early. Tore a hole right through their dimension." He tutted. "Imploded, sucked them straight into a black hole. _Such_ a waste."

"Sounds _fascinating._" The muscle around my eyebrow twitched. Jerry had gotten on my nerves a long time ago, but now he was pissing me off outright. I didn't give half a rat's ass what fallen society existed here before. All I wanted was to go back to Death Note for crying out loud! I paused. _Death Note? Hadn't I meant I wanted to go home?_

Jerry missed my sarcasm. "As beautiful as the scenery is, you cannot be here long. You must return to your physical body with much haste. You're running out of time."

"For what?" I leaped to my feet, my face flushed with sudden anger. "To risk my life to save L's? I've already done that! Over and over and over. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for this rescue mission, but if you haven't noticed, things aren't getting any better. If anything, they're getting worse! Did you give a damn if that troll chick squashed me? Or if those two men back there-" My voice caught in my throat. I swallowed, my eyes shifting, trying to discern some sense of emotion from the twitching at the back of his neck. "Listen," I said slowly, "I tried." I felt shaken. Sure, talking bears and invisible gods of death were a piece of cake, but what happened last night felt way too real. I hugged myself for comfort, suddenly feeling chilly.

Jerry shook his head. "I thought you'd be different, Ella."

Frustration bubbled up inside my veins, I felt myself start to steam. "For the LAST time, my _name _is Sydney. Ella is just a stupid, lost fangirl who's _way _over her head and not interested in attending another funeral!"

He spun on his heel. "But you're so _close._"

"Then give me a hint! A weapon! Something! _Help _me, Jerry."

Jerry's eyes glazed over. "I can't. I can't interfere more than I already have."

"Why?" I dropped to my knees. Images of last night whirlpooled in my brain, my heartbeat quickened. My shoulders trembling, I gasped for breath, feeling tears rise to my eyes. "WHY? Why me?" The question hung in the air, heavy and sad. "I-I don't want to do it anymore. The risks-" I shut my eyes, trying to will the images of the two men from my brain.

"Are worth it. _He's_ worth it."

"I barely know anything about him." I clenched my fingers, digging my nails into the fungus and tearing at the yellow flowers, tensing. "Sometimes..." Ukita's face flashed through my mind, my aunt, my parents...L. "Things are written the way they are for a reason. You can't change them."

CRACKA-KABOOM!

A rush of super-heated air crashed against me as the volcano brightened, vomiting balls of flame high into the sky. Waves, encouraged by the explosion, threw themselves against the cliff and splashed into the air, spraying me with their freezing mirth. My eyelids fluttered, the orange light brightened, enough to create a halo of soft, tangerine light in a crater of the moon. I slowly stood up, watching in respectful silence. Another wave burst high, and for a minute it rippled with the orange glow, like an otherworldly wall of flame, reaching to join its eternal brethren in the stars, before falling back down. I looked to Jerry, who was momentarily lit as well, as if he too were on fire.

A thought occurred to me. "What's in it for you?" I whispered.

"What?" He asked, distracted, still gazing with delight at the volatile natural disaster.

I took an offensive step forward. "What..._exactly_...is your motivation?"

Jerry turned to me, slowly, nodding to himself. "Let's just say...I'm _invested _in his future. And yours, believe it or not. You have come far, now you must go a little farther."

I ground my teeth together. "What is that even supposed to mean?"

He chuckled. "You'll see."

"Oh, will you just hush up with all the mystic mumbo jumbo and-" I paused, and squinted into the distance, tilting my head with confusion. A sudden blackness covered three quarters of the moon. Rushing down top to bottom, leaving only a pale crescent. It reminded me of a humongous, toothy smile. But just as soon as it came, it was gone.

Jerry peered at me, glanced over his shoulder and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, then back at me. "What? What do you see?"

My features relaxed and my eyes glazed over, as if staring very far away. "Cheshire says 'hello'." I echoed.

Jerry's eyebrows flew up, disappearing beneath the rim of his cowboy hat. The blackness in his eyes seemed to expand, swallowing the white. "So, something of that story survived...and _him_ of all things." He said quietly.

I blinked, stumbled slightly, and felt my forehead with my palm. "Woah, weird. I have no idea why I just said that. Jerry, hey, Jerry, stop looking at me like that. You're scaring me."

Jerry opened his mouth, stretching his jaw. The bone cracked. His skin was taught against his cheek bones, and his eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his hat. "You haven't been having nightmares, lately, have you?"

I frowned. I couldn't see it exactly, as if I was looking through a mirror reflecting a mirror, going on and on for eternity. I recalled a strange, loopy city, where everything was what it isn't and isn't what it was, filled with broken memories and forgotten promises. Then there was that ballroom, made of red, and an evil so unspeakable I barely wanted to remember it... Was I travelling to worlds by myself? In my sleep? Without Jerry's help? So far Jerry had guided me through worlds, I didn't know how to do it on my own, I didn't even know I could. I glanced at Jerry, and opened my mouth to reply, then closed it. I looked at my feet and shook my head.

Jerry straightened. "I see."

I let my shoulders slump, defeated. Despite his recent behaviour, lying to Jerry made me feel uncomfortable. "Alright, fine. Send me back." I said through the corner of my mouth, begrudgingly. "But _one _more near death experience, Jerry, and I'm going on strike."

"Very well. I have a bit of..._animal control_...to take care of anyways._" _He snapped his fingers. "Beware, your memory might be a little fuzzy, trauma and all. Don't worry, it will pass...or result in permanent amnesia." He added as an after thought.

_That makes me feel sooo much better. _The moon, the volcano, the stars, all swirled into a spiral (as though he had hit the 'flush' button on a universal toilet). Becoming dizzy, I fell backwards, but rather than hitting the ground, I continued to plummet down, down, down...

_Here we go again. _

**Back in Death Note**

_Pancakes._

_I smell pancakes._

I groaned, burying myself deeper into the blankets, welcoming the comfort of their soft touch. My body was stiff and sore, and I ached in places I didn't know could ache. My head felt as if it had been struck by a battering ram repeatedly, and the slightest sound made my brain pulse with agonizing pangs. I tried to open my eyes, but the milky morning light that drifted through the window made me wince, and I quickly shut them.

I could hear the spray of a shower, and somebody's voice singing lyrics I didn't recognize. Unlike the ticking of the clock beside the bed, the voice was soothing. I let myself get lost in the notes, humming along. A nagging sensation tugged at the back of my mind, reminding me of something I had forgotten. I ignored it, too tired and in too much pain to bother thinking too hard. The pillow beneath my head felt like a cloud, a warm, fluffy cloud that softened my qualms and nightmares. My feet poked out from beneath the blanket and I pulled them back into my sleepy cocoon, shuddering from the early chill.

_Did Light take me back to the hotel room last night? _I wondered, unconcerned. _That must be L then. Huh, I didn't know he could sing._

I heard the faucet squeak and the sputtering water slowed to a lazy drip. A door opened and a cloud of steam burst into the room, smelling of men's spicy soap and deodorant. The mist floated around me, filling my nostrils and mouth with its heat. I coughed and covered my eyes with the back of my hand. "You're a good singer." I yawned.

A voice chuckled. "Thanks."

_That's not L._

My eyes shot open and I tried to sit up, only to feel sparks of pain ignite in my body, forcing me to lie back down. I blinked, staring at the ceiling. The room spun dizzyingly for a moment, and I forced myself to a weak, upright position. I bit my lip, gulping down the tortuous twinges that pricked at me from the inside out. The room I was in was neat and organized, not a hair out of place. Everything was arranged efficiently, from the book shelf to the computer desk and back again. It was also very clean (almost _uncomfortably _so), and smelled like disinfecting chemicals. Standing in front of the open door, hair still dripping, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, was Light Yagami.

Red creeped into my cheeks. "What...what...WHAT am I doing here?" I demanded an answer, livid.

"You don't remember last night?"

My eyebrows screwed together, attempting to sift through a light fog that clouded my memory. A million different scenarios ran through my mind, none of which were the slightest bit favourable. Light must have noticed the horror on my face because he laughed. "Your mind certainly jumps straight to the gutter, doesn't it?"

The red in my face spread until I looked like a ripe, sun-dried tomato. "H-how much did I drink?"

"Enough to do something stupid." Light strolled over. "Did you notice? I brought you breakfast?"

I turned my neck stiffly, seeing the tower of pancakes piled on a plate atop the bedside table. They were covered with generous quantities of whip cream and syrup, and spotted with strawberries. A note beside them, written with neat cursive, read '_Good morning_.'

"Why...?"

Light plopped himself on the bed, rubbing the wet from his hair with a smaller, fluffier towel. "Isn't that the custom thing to do after a man and a woman sleep in the same bed?"

"We slept in the same _bed_?" I squeaked and pulled the blankets up to my neck, stupefied. What madness overtook me to allow myself within ten feet of this freak, let alone his bed? I quickly looked down at myself. I was wearing a dress shirt, much too large for myself, slightly unbuttoned. The sleeves stretched past my own hands, and the hem reached to my knees. _This must be Light's shirt. _My body was also covered with bandages in various places. _What the hell happened last night?_

"Obviously. Where else was I supposed to sleep? The floor?" He reached his arm around me, forcing me to lean into his chest, and picked up the fork. He smelled fresh and clean, and I could hear the steady beat of his heart. My own heart quickened as he handed me the utensil. "You should eat." He whispered, not unkindly.

I shook my head quickly and shut my eyes, trying to cast his half-naked image from my mind and stomp it to a bleeding, battered pulp. "Will you put on a shirt already?" I muttered.

"Well, you're wearing it, to be honest. But besides that, why must I?" Light smiled fiendishly and leaned closer. "Feeling shameful, are we?" He asked, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.

I dug my feet into the mattress, pressing myself up against the wall, trying to get as far away from him as possible. "No! It's because you _disgust _me, that's why!"

He sighed and snatched a strawberry. He tilted his head back and popped it in his mouth, chewing on it lightly and licking his fingers. "I'm still waiting for my 'thank you'."

"Thank you? Why in the world would I thank _you_?" I cursed him with the foulest word I knew.

He blinked, surprised, then did something unexpected. He threw his head back and laughed – at me.

I glared at him, my eyes narrow and apprehensive. "What? What's so funny?"

"Don't you remember _anything_?"

"No." I said sharply. "And the sooner you explain, AND put on a shirt, the longer you have before I kick your ass to Timbuktu and back." (A well-used saying, but still effective)

Light smoothed back his wet hair, though he made no move for clothing. He flicked his eyes at me, looking me up and down, as if doubtful I could kick his ass at all in my current condition. "You and Ryuzaki had a fight. Last night at the bar."

"You're lying," I responded immediately, "why would Ryuzaki and I fight?"

Light shrugged. "I'm assuming jealousy, but that's just a guess."

"Jealous..." My hand flew to my mouth. Tilted, skewed images of Light's mouth falling onto mine spun inside my mind's eye. _The look on his face..._I thought, lip quivering. My attention returned back to Light. "You kissed me on purpose!"

"I'd certainly hope so, making out with girls by accident is not a practice that becomes me."

I frowned, my eyes distant, struggling to remember. "There was a storm..."

"Yes." Light said, leading me further to the truth. "The news reports say it was one of the worst storms Tokyo has experienced in a hundred years. Lots of flooding, broken trees and collapsed roofs. A few people were stupid enough to try and drive in it and got themselves killed. And you-"

"Ran right into it." I finished, swallowing a painful lump in my throat. A dark alley swam into my memory, and a single word, repeating itself over and over like a broken record. _Kitten...Kitten...Kitten... _I curled up into a ball, pulling my knees up to my chin and buried my face there, hiding my frightened expression from Light. My skin paled and my eyes started to water. I felt a curdling heat boil at the back of my neck, the sensation of shame. "There were two men..." I whispered hoarsely. I couldn't remember their faces, but when I thought of them I saw a scarecrow pinned up in a field of red, smiling evilly, and a dumb-faced gorilla beating his chest and roaring. _Oh god..._

"Not anymore, I'm taking care of them. They'll meet equally unfortunate demises in the next few days." Light seemed extremely at ease.

I looked up with watery eyes, and sniffed, my nose stuffy and red. "You...you _saved _me." I said each word carefully, astounded with my sudden realization.

"Don't sound so surprised," he said spryly, "men like that don't deserve to breathe my air."

So Light had already made plans for them, writing their names in his Death Note. Well, I wasn't going to cry over their deaths. If anything, Light had avenged me. I tilted my head, eyes bright. He looked different somehow, and it wasn't just because he was solely dressed in a towel. He was just a little less...cruel. And a little more like a boy trying to rescue the world from the evils that lurked in back alleys, like the way he looked last night.

(Don't get me wrong, he's still a psycho, just a _nicer_ psycho)

"Wait a minute...what happened to my dress?" My eyes widened. "Did you-"

"It was hardly covering you, Sydney. Trust me, you're better off with that shirt. And don't worry, I didn't look."

_Sure you didn't._

"You know," he said, absentminded, "this is nice. Talking to you, I mean." His eyes flicked to mine, judging my reaction carefully. "I've kept this secret for so long now that it's extremely liberating speaking so freely." He stretched his arms up high, and his muscles grew taut around his stomach.

My eyes flicked to his abdomen (wait, wait, don't jump to conclusions, I am NOT checking him out), I noticed for the first time that his skin was raw and bruised (see, told you). I reached over and tentatively touched where he was hurt with the tips of my fingers. He winced, but didn't pull away. "I'm sorry," I said passively, "thank you."_I suppose he isn't heartless, not completely anyways. _I relaxed and, realizing my hunger, picked up the plate of pancakes, and dug into them ravenously. I licked some whipped cream of the fork. "Dese are dewicious," I said with my mouth full, gesturing with my fork happily. For now we were on even ground. Neutral. No one trying to destroy the other. I knew it had to end, that this peace wouldn't last long, which only made me enjoy it more.

"Very well and good, but eat quickly, I have to get you out of here before-"

"Light! Light! You'll never guess what!"

Light cursed under his breath and jumped to his feet, trying to reach the door to lock it. He got two steps when it flung itself open and pajama clad Sayu stepped through, hair down and tangled, ear phones wrapped around her neck. She clutched a celebrity teen magazine in her fingers. "Hideki Ryuga is coming to Tokyo! He's-"

She saw me.

_Well, so much for that. _Mouth still full, I held out my plate of food. "Pancake?" I offered.

Her mouth opened slightly, she looked at Light wide eyed. I could practically see the little sibling gears in her head start to turn, and a giddy (imp-like) grin spread across her face.

"Wait, Sayu, don't-" Light started, trying to grab her.

"Dad!" She called over her shoulder, turning to race down the hallway, excitedly. "Dad! Light has a _girl _in his room!"

Light groaned. He flung his dresser open and grabbed a pair of pants. I covered my eyes with my hand as he dropped the towel and yanked on his jeans. "Stay here." He ordered, pulling up the last leg and hurriedly zipping up his fly. "I have to go take care of this."

And then I was alone.

For a moment, I sat there content. Letting the seconds drip by like residue water from the surface of a tap, lazy and constant. My eyes wandered through the room, noting the tall bookshelves filled with academic titles, the way the curtains matched the carpet, the buzz of the mini television set in the corner, the organized desk, the-

My eyes widened.

Not wasting another minute, I gritted down the pain in my body and crawled from the bed, heading for the desk. Screw neutrality, I was never going to get another chance like this. There were benefits to having watched the whole series. I knew _exactly _were Light kept his Death Note, and what defences he had installed. He left the key inside the drawer on purpose, along with a fake diary to deter any who found it. I didn't have the strength to stand on my own, so I used the wall to keep myself up. Once I reached the desk, I sat down with much relief in his chair and cautiously pulled open the drawer. There _should _be a hidden compartment in here—_Yes! There! I can feel it!_ I looked around quickly for a pen. Finding it and unscrewing the cap, I felt beneath the drawer for the hidden hole. _Where is it? Aha!_ I pushed the pen into the small, almost unrecognizable hole beneath the drawer. Gently, slowly, carefully. I knew Light had installed a home-made system, if someone were to force it open, it would trigger, and the death note would burn (don't ask me to explain it, some basic scientific principles were applied regarding an electrical circuit, I wasn't going to get caught up on the details). An ingenious system, if I recalled correctly even Ryuk was impressed by it. _But not enough to fool an otaku._ I rolled over and leaped to my feet, excited. If I could take Light's Death Note, his source of power would be gone. No one else had to die, not even him (whether he deserved it or not was another matter). I could destroy it, or bury it. Sure, L would never solve the mystery, but at least...

At least he would live.

And that was going to have to be good enough for him.

I slipped my hand beneath the thin piece of plywood and grasped for the Death Note. I frowned. _Wait. What? It's not there. Then what did he..._

"Looking for this?"

_Uh-oh._

For several seconds the only sound was the quiet buzzing of the mini television next to his desk, broadcasting local news reports. I gathered my courage and slowly, painfully slowly, revolved in the chair to face him. Light had entered the room silent as a ghost, holding up the Death Note in one hand. _Where was he even hiding it? _The door was closed and locked, effectively eliminating my first choice of escape.

I glanced at the cracked window. _If I get a head start..._

"Still don't trust me, Sydney?" He sounded amused.

"Would you?" I shot back.

"I suppose not." He stepped forward, but I raised my hand, warning him not to come any closer. He stopped and bowed his head respectfully. "I'm not going to hurt you, I think I proved that last night. If anything," he smiled grimly at me, "I'm quite impressed. I'd love to know how you figured out what it was, or even where I kept it."

I gave a curt, self-praising bow, then instantly regretted it from the spearing pain in my stomach. I half-grimaced, half-smiled. "I guess you caught me, did you know I'm actually a psychic?"

Light chuckled. "From all the impossible things I've seen in the last few weeks, I wouldn't be surprised. However, I doubt it."

My eyes followed the notebook as he let his arm fall loosely to his side, unconcerned._ If I could just get my hands on it..._I crossed my ankles and tapped my knees impatiently. "So..._now_ will you put on a shirt?"

Light scratched the back of his neck, ignoring me. "Moving forward, my father is...well, I use the term 'furious' lightly. He's waiting for you to be," Light cleared his throat, "decent. Then insists on escorting you back to HQ."

I closed one eye and tilted my head curiously. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

Light folded his arms behind his back. "I was...wrong...to try and kill you before. It was rash. You're quite an amazing person, Sydney."

"Gee, thanks. It means _so_ much coming from you." I bit my cheek. _Is he still playing me? _Last night's turn of events made me uncertain of his motivation any more. What did he have to gain from saving me? "Light," I whispered softly. "You rescued me last night, that makes us square for when you tried to kill me. I'll honour that." Sunlight flooded through the window, casting its golden glow across my eyes. "However, nothing else has changed. You're still Kira, and I still think what you're doing is wrong. You're trying to hurt someone I care about. I'm not going to stop trying to bring you down."

He shrugged. "You can try."

"Listen to me!" I said, almost desperately. "You have no idea what series of events you're about to unfold. This doesn't end well, not for anyone! Think of your own future, your _family_."

Light stiffened.

I leaned back in the chair and clasped my hands together on my lap, staring at the ground. _I shouldn't have said that. I really shouldn't have said that. _The television buzzed distractingly. A news woman came into view, speaking quickly as she guided her crew down a public street. _"Authorities say they've never seen anything like it..."_ Images of the remnants of last night's storm showed in broken telephone poles and crashed cars. We regarded each other in silence. All that could be heard was the news lady, speaking with amazement. _"Appears to be a brutal double murder, the identities of the two men have yet to be identified..."_

"I am justice." His voice swept through the room, an iron pendulum, eradicating anything in its path. "I am making the world a better place." He replied stoically. "Men like those in that alley-" He paused for effect.

I bit my lip.

"-Don't deserve to live. Anyone who thinks otherwise can join them."

"Ooh," I waved my hands in the air mockingly, "I'm so scared. Where do you get off, Light? You're not justice, your self-righteous! There will be consequences, and trust me, you're going to regret them."

He gritted his teeth. "I had hoped you'd think otherwise. Well, there's plenty of time for you to see things my way." He shook his head calmly. "You can be a bit of a thorn, Sydney."

I crossed my arms in a huff. Talking would do no good. Light would never be convinced through mere words. I was wasting my trying to warn him. "Well if I'm a thorn I hope I'm pricking you right in the-"

The television buzzed again, and the news woman gasped with horror. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her hold her hand over her mouth, willing back any vomit that might have surfaced. The camera zoomed in on something red. _"This is Sakura TV," _her voice was shaky, "_reporting to you live. What you see here is..."_

I turned to the television, suddenly aware. "Hey, isn't that the alley from last night?"

Light's dark expression turned to one of confusion. For a moment we both watched, our previous disagreement forgotten. A certain burly investigator (the one and only) was stomping in the direction of the camera, shouting and gesturing irritably, ushering them back behind the yellow tape. "Is that..?" He started, uncertain.

I swallowed queasily. "Scarecrow and Gorilla." I turned and glared at Light accusingly, pointing at the gruesome, twisted bodies on the screen with a quick tilt of my head and a no-nonsense-I-demand-an-explanation expression.

"What? Oh, you can't be serious. _I _didn't do that. I have them written in the notebook to die a week from now." He frowned. "This is impossible. The notebook is absolute, certain _parties _excluded," he glanced at me and I stuck my tongue out at him. "They should remain alive until then. I don't understand."

"Well, _someone _killed them. And if it wasn't you..." My blood ran cold, as if I was just injected with anti-freeze. Something about that scene felt too...familiar. The image showed them removing a body part from the dumpster. It looked as if they were butchered, like cattle. A chunk fell off, already rotting along with the garbage that hid it, and splattered on the ground. The investigator jumped back, avoiding the widening puddle of blood. I saw a pair of rats scatter beneath a pile of garbage bags, their tails flapping as they dug their way to safety. My stomach churned. "I...I have to go." I said uncertainly and struggled to my feet. My knees knocked together. The room started to spin.

Light was there in a flash, holding me up beneath my arms.

"It's," I started, out of breath, "not going to work. This tactic of yours, I mean. I'll never join you. You can stop being nice already."

"Let's just say I'm _invested_ in your future." Light whispered in my ear.

Something about his words blipped uneasily in my mind, like a blinking red warning light. Jerry had said the same thing too.

"But for now," he released me, "how about some proper clothes?"

"I like the sound of that!" I said enthusiastically. "About time you put on a shirt."

"I meant for you."

"Oh."

Sayu's clothing was a bit too small for me (I'm big boned, okay?) and she was much too busy falling into fits of giggles to be much help. So, to my eternal embarrassment, I was forced to borrow from Light's mother. Which took the form of a frumpy pink sweater, white-washed 'mom' jeans that hung loosely about my waste, a pair of socks that reminded me of marshmallows and matching pink bunny slippers. She insisted I take a shower first, and fussed over my battered wounds and hair, asking if I had had enough to eat at varying intervals. Light said his father was well aware of the events of last night, but the rest of his family was out of the loop. That meant they all thought Light and I...Needless to say, my cheeks maintained a solid green for most of the morning. Light was worst of all. He kept up his friendly facade the entire time, offering smooth compliments here and there, playing the part of perfect son. His mother shot him disapproving and embarrassed looks on occasion, but otherwise left the matter unspoken. Keeping with my old lady get up, I tied my hair into a tight bun, though not all of it would obey (as usual), and set for the street where Light's father waited, fuming no doubt, in the car. Before I could leave, Light grabbed me by the waist and rather unexpectedly kissed me (again, ugh) on his front step. (Making Mrs. Yagami and Sayu blush fiercely as they waved goodbye). Hating myself for getting used to it, I was still a _bit _too weak for a timed reaction. He let go before I could push him away and whispered, pleased, "Have to keep up appearances," in my ear.

I was _this _close to slapping him, when the Chief honked his horn impatiently. I pointed a threatening finger at Light's chest, then departed, steam emitting from my ears. The car door shut, definitively, and the Chief began to drive. The car smelled of false leather and an artificial pine scent. Morning was apparent among the tired, coffee drinkers we passed and the hurried pace of those heading for work. I fiddled with the lumpiness of my sweater, trying to smooth it down. Traffic was agonizingly slow, but we passed the time with some sort of Japanese variation on country music via the radio.

It was only until we were several blocks away before he broke the awkward silence with a cough.

"Look, Chief. I swear nothing happened-"

"I know."

"I wouldn't even consider doing _that _with Light in a million years—wait, you do?"

His glasses reflected the white light of the sun, he squinted and he flipped down the visor. "Yes, he apologized to me this morning for not telling me sooner. He thought it best you rest first. I understand you went through quite the ordeal last night." He glanced at me sidelong, and I thought his mustache bristled slightly.

I fiddled some more with the hem of my sweater, not saying anything.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked kindly.

My lip trembled, but I bit it vehemently, forcing down my confusing rush of emotions, leaving behind only meek frustration. "Why is it always me?" I asked suddenly, not to the Chief in particular, but to the universe really. "Why does fate always choose _me _to pick on? For once, I just want things to go right." I huffed, breathing quickly. "I mean, what did I _do_ to deserve all this?"

"Nothing." The Chief interjected immediately. "Nothing at all. In my line of work, I see the innocent suffer time and time again. There is no divine hand choosing them, it is merely chance. No one deserves what you've gone through. Don't ever say that again."

I nodded. I knew he was correct, I just wished there was an easier solution. This world was just as dangerous as the one I came from, if not more so. "I'm just so...tired, Chief. Tired of fighting all the time. I can't do it by myself anymore."

"You're not by yourself, the entire team supports you, Ella. You have my word. We can never stop fighting, not for justice or freedom. We must persevere, for the good of all. There _is _a light at the end of this tunnel, dark and long that it is. We only have to reach it." He placed his free hand on my shoulder comfortingly. Then cleared his throat. "So, not in a _million _years?"

I laughed. "Let's just say he's not my type."

The Chief adjusted his glasses. "That's a shame. You are an outstanding young lady, Ella. My son would be lucky to have your support, especially in these troubling times."

I glanced at him, wondering how he was taking all this. "Sir," I said carefully, "you know L doesn't give up easy. He won't stop suspecting Light, not without definitive proof of his innocence."

The Chief sighed. "I am aware. I can only hope that L will one day see my son the way I see him; a brilliant, honourable man with his heart in the right place."

"You love him a lot, huh?"

"Of course, he is my son."

I looked out the window, into the side mirror, watching the street lights speed by, bright against the smoggy, orange clouds as we neared Tokyo's skyline. It didn't look that different from New York's, and made me home sick. _Oh, Light. You're going to break your father's heart._

**Back in Light's Room**

Light fell back onto his bed and closed his eyes, welcoming the silence.

"Quite the morning you had, huh?" Ryuk asked, interrupting the peaceful air with his gritty, slimy voice. As if every time he spoke a salty slug slithered out.

Light rested his hand on his stomach. "She disgusts me." He said, his eyes wide and his pupils small. The lines on his face showed, as if an invisible hand suddenly etched them into his face, making it hostile.

"Oh?" Ryuk asked, amused. "You didn't seem disgusted when you kissed her goodbye. I didn't know you were such a romantic."

"Pff, trust me, I didn't enjoy it. She's acting like she's doing me a favour! Well, she'll suffer with her beloved _L,_" he spat the letter as if he had just swallowed a gulp of petrol, "soon enough." He calmed his breathing, counting to ten. "All in good time." He told himself. "This is a waiting game now." He closed his eyes again.

"What exactly do you have planned?" Ryuk floated closer.

Light smiled coolly, keeping his eyes closed. "She's an unknown variable, Ryuk. Sooner or later L is going to make a misstep because of her, and when he does I'll be there, ready. Once he and the girl are gone there will be no one to oppose me. The world is almost mine."

There was a pause.

"So, do you have any apples?"

_End of Chapter 27_

Sorry for the wait there, guys. I finished Firefly (WHY must something so epic be over?), and then got into Terra Nova and only just finished Season one of Stargate SG-1. (It's been a long week fueling my fan cravings) Not looking forward to waking up early for work tomorrow, as usual, but I shall try writing more. The next chapter SHOULD feature a conflict with Aizawa coming to a head (though I may forgo that for later and focus a bit more on her schoolmates), finally meeting L after their 'ahem' disagreement 'ahem' and more explanation regarding the mysterious (and deserved) demises of Scarecrow and Gorilla. (It's gonna be good). Tell me what you thought of this chapter if you can, it took lots of editing to try and get all the chemistry and dialogue-vs-description right. (I'm a perfectionist when it comes to these things, but I am WAY too tired to try and do more than a simple read through now so forgive any simple errors).

I'm off to sleep.

From Satchelle, who is probably busy dreaming right now.


	28. Red Rat

**Chapter 28**

The investigator was _not _pleased.

He scribbled away in his notebook, stabbing it fiercely with his pen, his fingers flying by line after line at a million miles an hour. His bushy, prominent brow seemed permanently stuck in a downward angle, nearly obscuring his small, watchful eyes with the weight of its severity. Police officers with primped blue suits and polished badges blew sharp, piercing whistles, gesturing the constant and curious flow of human traffic along. The forensics team skipped about, happy as clams in their rubber gloves and hair nets, carrying vials and bags and tongs of evidence – all to be examined later at the lab. They swabbed brick walls, upturned garbage bins and chased after rats while bright lights flashed in the alley as they took picture after picture, excited and mystified.

The investigator didn't blame them for their good mood. The office had grown quiet as of late. Kira had taken care of almost all the major criminals on their lists, and those that escaped his grasp remained on the down-low, biding their time. There was a new player in the game now, and bad guys left and right knew more than ever what it felt like to be hunted. (If it kept up, they'd have to make salary cuts.)

The investigator stepped around a particularly nasty puddle of blood and plugged his nose as he neared the large green garbage bin. The bin rustled and rattled from within. He waved a fly that buzzed at his ear. "What have you got for me, Fumio?"

The rustling stopped for a moment, then a head emerged, popping up like a plastic groundhog from one of those games at the fair. The face was wrapped in a hair net, plastic jumpsuit hoodie, goggles and a surgeon's mask. Despite all this protection, his eyes still watered and his features still wrinkled from the stagnant stench of death and rotting leftovers. "Well," Fumio said, "You know how we couldn't find his head?"

"Yeah?"

"Found it." Fumio held it up by the hair, reeling away from the sagging flesh and empty eye sockets. A few other forensics noticed and cheered the discovery, others disappeared to expel their lunch somewhere private.

The investigator pulled out a handkerchief, obscuring his nose with it, and leaned closer. "Oh hell, is that a maggot?"

"Yes sir, the decomposing process was sped up by the rotting refuse. The maggots always go for the eyes first." He said with distaste.

"Fine, collect all the maggots too."

Fumio groaned loudly.

"And will you _stop _holding it up for all the world to see? Tag it, bag it and take it back to the lab. We might be able to get an ID from a dental exam."

"Yes sir."

"And will you tell everyone to _try _not to look so happy? That Sakura team is hovering around here somewhere, that woman is a _hyena _I swear it. All we need now is for the entire department to look like grinning idiots on national television."

"'Course not, sir. Wouldn't want to take _you _out of the spotlight." Fumio vaulted out of the garbage bin and removed his cap, allowing a bright bush of hair dyed carrot-orange (a bleach job gone wrong, though Fumio claims he did it on purpose, the dunce) to spring up. He grinned teasingly at his boss. He was, of course, referring to several incidents in the last few weeks that left the investigator appearing rather foolish on camera – including an embarrassing moment where the investigator was caught mysteriously snoozing in his car during a Kira attack.

"Watch it, Fumio," the investigator snapped, "or you can kiss that up and coming promotion goodbye."

"Yes, boss," Fumio said readily, feigning a salute. He pointed a few orders out to some understudies.

The investigator snapped his notebook shut. "Alright, people! Let's wrap it up. We're due back for debriefing in an hour!" He took some time to collect his officers, directing them about like a well oiled machine, all the while reviewing his notes. Just as he was about to leave, he caught sight of Fumio flirting with one of the interns and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Did you even hear me?"

Fumio's eyes flicked nervously, and his skin was a shade paler, like curdled milk. "Boss, I know what it looks like, but I just received word." The intern scurried away, cheeks blushing.

The investigator huffed and rolled his eyes. "Sure, go ahead then, tell me how warming up to the new students is relevant."

"We found residue of what appears to be bleach in particular areas of the crime scene." Fumio said quickly. Everything that wasn't out in the open, like the bodies or blood stains, has been washed. The outside of that garbage bin, portions of the walls, even the fire escape, all the way to the top of the stairs."

"So?"

"_So_, this was a carefully calculated crime. This man, whoever he is-"

"Or she."

"Or she," Fumio corrected, "_wanted_ us to find everything we have found. Otherwise, why not just clean the entire crime scene? Why clean everything _but _the evidence? There's more to this, boss."

"What do you mean, '_more_?'"

Fumio groaned, vexed. "Look, from what I can tell, there is _zero _evidence that either victim was killed here."

"Stop talking in riddles, Fumio! Of course they were killed here! What about all the blood?"

Fumio shook his head. "None of the blood patterns make sense. All of it is nowhere NEAR the bodies, or in impossible places. That, and the bodies have marks on their wrists and feet, suggesting they were tied up. It looks as though this guy snatched them, killed them somewhere else, then brought them back."

"Wait, slow down. Are you saying this _entire _crime scene is _staged_?"

"I think so, boss. Whoever this creep is, everything, down the last scrap of litter, was part of an elaborate design."

The investigator flipped open his notebook again, writing absentmindedly. "I think I remember a case a few years back, big deal over in America, with a psycho who did something similar..."

"Boss?"

The investigator tapped his pen on his temple, it looked as if it strained him to think too hard. Making a decision, he capped the pen and stuck it in his pocket. "Gather everybody up and pull in the cleaning crew. I've got to go look at some old files." He moved quickly for his size, weaving between other officers as he made for his car. _Psycho murderer, calculated crime, creepy tendencies, bleach..._He looked up, then froze in his tracks, his eyes bulging. "YOU!"

**Sydney's POV**

I gave him my best smile and a 'V' for victory sign. "Howdy."

At first I thought he was going to explode, especially from the colourful shades his face turned, and how his shoulders shook with anger (if I had to Ripley Scale it, I'd say a 6.8). Then, he appeared to gather himself, tucked away a stray strand of hair and adjusted his suit. "Security, what is this _girl_ doing behind the tape?" He called out irritably.

The Chief stepped forward, flashing his badge. "This 'girl' is my charge, investigator. I request you tolerate her presence for just a moment, she may have information on this incident."

The investigator looked at me (as if he wanted to slow-roast me on a rotating spit), then at the Chief, eyes taking in all the information on his badge. (This man truly did have a delightful array of skin tones, he was like a painter's pallet, his face gliding through pigments like a brush on canvas. Thus far he had switched from furious crimson to embarrassed pink to a dark, brooding purple.) His shoulder slumped, resigned to his fate. "Very well," he said solemnly, regarding the Chief with a raised eyebrow. He flipped open his notebook and gestured for me to start, "I hope this is worth my time."

I quickly described a brief (tweaked) version of last night's events. The investigator asked me questions, noting my descriptions for the men and what condition they were in the last time I saw them. When I told him their...motivation...his eyebrows wiggled like a fuzzy caterpillar perched on a branch, and his eyes searched me briefly, before moving on. He also asked question about Light, including why he did not immediately report the incident to the police. That's when the Chief stepped forward, saying that Light's first and foremost responsibility was to making sure I was safe, and saying that he had committed the men's names to memory by checking their wallets (a nice, neat lie as to why his fingerprints might be found there) so that he could report it later, once I was recovered.

I glanced at the Chief, who continued to speak in short, gruff sentences to the investigator. It hadn't been difficult to convince the Chief to bring me back to the scene of the crime before taking me to L. He was definitely one for following procedure, especially since I was considered a witness – it helped that I told him it was bring me a sense of closure. (Sucker, sadly, he can't help it). The investigator then finished, telling the Chief he would want to speak to Light at a later date to get his version of events. Before he could dismiss me, I quickly interrupted.

"What do you think happened to them?"

The investigator regarded me suspiciously. "As a civilian, it's not your concern. You can watch the news like everybody else. Now, if you'll excuse me-"

I grabbed his sleeve. "Wait, it's just..." I opened my mouth, eyes flicking back and forth. "I..."

He paused. "Well? I'm a very busy man, kid, either spill the beans or get back behind the barrier." (If there was an award for insensitivity, this man would win it by a mile).

I slumped back, letting my hands fall away from his suit glumly. "Nothing. It's nothing."

"Good, now then, if you two will excuse me, I have to-"

"Boss!"

"WHAT, FUMIO?" The investigator barked. "What could possibly be _so _important that you feel you can interrupt me whenever-"

"You're going to want to see this."

I noticed for the first time that a group of plastic covered people were pushing the large garbage bin back (the same one that gave me shelter last night). Its metal surface scratched and scraped at the pavement, and the forensic team grunted as they strained their backs. Slowly, very slowly, the bin moved aside.

"My God."

"Is that...?"

"Quick, someone take a picture!"

I followed in careful, deliberate steps behind the investigator, raising myself on tip toe to see over his shoulder. The investigator disappeared within the plastic suits, and I bumped and banged my way past them, a sense of urgency suddenly overcoming me. I cast aside several people, ignoring their cries of protest, then stopped dead.

Beneath the garbage bin, written in shiny, bloody letters, were two words.

_SHE'S MINE._

My knees wobbled. _No. It's not possible. _I dropped to the ground, feeling my breath start to quicken. My lungs clenched and my chest felt weighted down. I started to hyperventilate. _Not possible. _

The investigator's skin seemed to harden, like leather, tightening around his features. His eyes were wide as saucers and his mouth a tight, grim line. Everyone, all at once, as if on a timer, turned to look at me. The investigator reached for his notebook, he started making demands to his officers, then turned and began asking me a string of questions. The Chief placed a hand on my shoulder, shaking me, shouting in my ear. Several people began to mutter and whisper excitedly, their cameras flashing. One person posed in front of the sentence, giving the camera a thumbs up.

I heard none of them.

_Not possible._

**Last Night**

Drops of rain crisped at the window, leftover from the storm. They slid down the smooth glass surface, gliding between metal bars and over graffiti, misting from the pane's cool touch. The blinking red lights of faraway traffic tinted the water crimson, giving it the look of splattered blood.

Rats scurrying between rotting wooden planks and rusting iron bars avoided slick black pools of poison left behind from the building's owners and random, blue tufts of flame that erupted from worn down piping – caused by a non-fatal gas leak and the occasional spark. In fact, it was one such overtly curious rat that awoke the skinny man hanging from the ceiling.

The chain that bound his feet to the rafters creaked as he sneezed himself into consciousness and attempted to bat away the rat that was chewing his hair, but found he could not. His face was red from the blood that pooled to his head, and his body was greasy with sweat. He looked around wildly, the whites of his eyes visible, and gasped for air. "Wha-what's g-g-going on?" His voice shook and peaked at the end, but he steadied it, his fear overcome by his fury. "If this is some sick BDSM spoof, guys, it's not funny!"

A chuckle.

The rats that had come to investigate the man darted into the corners and disappeared all at once, their tails shivering behind them.

The skinny man froze.

_Creeeeak...Creeeeak..._whined the chain. It spun him around and around as he thrashed, trying to see who was there. The harsh metal bit through his ruined suit and clenched its iron grip into his skin and bones, constricting more and more as he rotated. He breathed through clenched teeth, his cheeks bulging. "I told you guys, cut it out! Where's the camera? Come on! Who backed this? This is that stupid Prank Show on Sakura TV isn't it?"

The room was small, tables and metal conveyors crisscrossed the area, all decrepit and run-down. Yellow-eyed, long legged spiders clung to their wispy webs, spinning moths and cockroaches into neatly packed slurpy snacks, ignoring the events that surrounded them. A deep, orange glow flickered down a long hallway, lined with grates and fogged by bursts of searing steam that erupted from weak points in the pipes. The light was more mechanical than natural, more like a ghosting fire than a sunset. Shadows warped up the walls and floor, appearing sharp and narrow with ill intent. Harmless outlines of rats and abandoned machinery suddenly became long-toothed monsters, creeping closer and closer and...

SQUEAK!

"GAH!" The skinny man screamed and jerked away, sending himself into twirling turmoil. When he saw that it was merely a rat, braver than its cousins, coming to sniff him, he calmed down. "Shoo." He hissed. And snapped his teeth at it.

The rat tilted its head to the side, intrigued. Its fur was smooth, like a frequently groomed coat, aside from a fuzzy tuft on its head. A pale, white scar crossed one eye, which was blinded blue, and the other a beady black. It snuffled and repeatedly ran its pink, bare paw along its long snout, wiggling its whiskers as it attempted to ease an itch.

Another chuckle.

The rat stopped, perking its ears up. Very slowly, it became tense. Its eyes widened and its skin grew taught, its ears flattened against its head and its tail tucked between its legs. With sudden panic, it spun tail (literally) and ran, darting for cover. The only thing the skinny man could see was the shadows on the wall, projected as grotesquely enormous and misshapen. A bent-fingered, clawed hand snapped from the darkness and snatched up the squirming rat. It and the other rodents in the walls squeaked and trilled loudly, scratching and biting. The hand held it up by the tail using its pointed nails, as if to examine it, then flipped it in the air, like a coin, and caught it again, this time around the neck.

There was a sickening CRUNCH.

The rats in the walls fell into instant silence.

A voice slithered from the darkness, well spoken, intelligent, but...off. The skinny man couldn't quite place it, the tone jumped and skipped, as if the person could not decide definitively on a proper accent or emotion. It leaped from low and menacing to high and amused to just plain, never ending bouts of self-induced laughter. "Rats," it said, "they go so well with jam, did you know? Who would have thought? Well, _me_, obviously." More laughter.

The skinny man, too scared to move, watched the shadow stalk around the room.

"But _such _a pain to catch," it pouted remorsefully, "they grow more cautious every day. And my stomach, oh, how it _tightens_. Now, human meat, I wonder...How do you think that would taste with jam? I've never tried it. Have you?"

The skinny man started to shake violently.

"Probably a nice grape, no, strawberry. Mmm, yes. The strawberry is by far superior to other fruit-based jams, it lasts in harsh frosts, grows fatter every year and the _sweetness_. Ah, I've never tasted anything like it. Pure-"

"W-whoever you are," the skinny man started, swallowing bile, "I'll pay you. Estate, money, women, anything you want. It's yours. Just untie me and-"

"_WHY _must they always bargain?" The stranger sighed, exasperated. "What would I want with land or money? Hmmm?" It tilted its head far to the side, so much so that the bone cracked and the neck jutted out like the pointed edge of a mountain's peak. Its hands reached up, grabbed its head on either side and snapped it back into place with a satisfied _sigh_. "I can _take _those things whenever I want. And women? There's only _one _woman I want, ah, but I must be patient. Such a delightful meal must be carefully prepared, or it will spoil, oh yes."

"H-hey man, I can respect that. I can help you. The ladies love me. They get hot just thinking-"

"Will you _shut _up?" The stranger, still cast in deep shadow, pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up at the ceiling. "Gags, next time I'll use gags." He muttered.

"Listen, I was with a friend. When he finds out I'm missing he'll call the police. This place will be crawling with them pretty soon! You better let me go or-or-"

That's when the stranger smiled. A set of bright, white teeth (sharper than one would expect) that raised shadowed cheeks and expanded dark lips. The cracks between the teeth were a vibrant, vile red. A row of broken mirrors, uneven and notched, full of wobbly imperfections lay on the floor and up against the wall. It skewed the face into a horrific, many eyed monster. "Oh, you mean _this _friend?" The shadow pulled a lever and one of the conveyers rumbled to life, smoking and coughing as its lights blinked into dim awareness. It whirred as the rolling pins moved, and the rubber belt slid forward.

The skinny man screamed.

His friend was laid out (rather decoratively) – in pieces. Rats already converged on the body, crunching and ripping with long, crooked fangs. The conveyer dripped with thick, black liquid. The skinny man couldn't tell if it was blood or jam, or both.

"Your friend talked too much too."

Now the voice was behind the skinny man, circling with him, very close, yet just out of sight. The skinny man's heart beat against his chest, a hummingbird's wings against a shut screen door, fighting to burst free. "Please..." the skinny man started to sob, snot ran from his nose down his upside down cheeks, and tears dripped to the floor. He began to slobber, begging again, offering his money, his little sister, his soul.

The stranger whacked the skinny man with his hand, spinning him around and around. The man couldn't focus on any one thing, he only caught glimpses. A white smile, curved from ear to ear like a scythe's blade. Two red, cavernous eyes, hungry and pretentious, viewing him like one might view a cooked meal. Jagged hair, sharp as stakes. And a shadow - the kind of dark that you see when looking down into an empty grave. The stranger regarded him with superiority and amusement. "You ordinary, insipid, _boring _chunk of meat. You are as dull as a pig." The skinny man saw the flash of a carving blade, glinting in the flickering orange light. The stranger continued, unaware. "To think a _pig _like you thought yourself worthy enough to touch _her_." He said quietly, thoughtfully. He twisted the blade by its point, tossing it in the air and catching it again, admiring the way it seemed to glow. "And people call _me _mad." He shrugged. "Oh well, at least you'll make a lovely gift for her."

The skinny man started to scream as loudly as he could for help, lost of any sense or conscious thought aside from fear.

His scream was abruptly shortened. All that could be heard in the abandoned factory was the rhythmic scratching of the rats in the walls, the whistling bursts of steam, the creaking of chains, the rumble of old equipment, and a single, unhindered, echoing laugh.

**Arrival**

The morning had dragged out, long and overdone, like that speech you get on 'drug awareness' _every year _at school, until you can't remember how it started or what the point was anymore. I had been trapped in a small room, with only glasses of water to keep me company, while officer after officer interviewed me one by one. They all asked the same questions more or less, and all did a similar, unsatisfied nod when I answered. A quick, impatient motion, expecting me to continue with some sort of revelation or break through. None came.

I _did _entertain myself for a while with the one-way-glass, but there were only so many disgusting faces or rude gestures that I knew. At one point they even sent in a psychologist with ink blots, now _that _was fun. I messed with him a bit by pretending I thought they all were inappropriate extremities (or kittens), until the Chief entered and requested I take it seriously.

I didn't.

The investigator was the most persistent. At times he would just sit there, hands folded on the table, staring at me. He didn't speak, didn't move, just watched with mistrustful, heavy eyes. I took the time to think of the many ways to describe his misshapen physical appearance (again, neanderthalic immediately came to mind). It wasn't until late in the morning that they finally let me go, unhappy with my answers but exhausted themselves. They elected the Chief as my personal guardian and made him promise to bring me back once further developments had unfolded, since I was on a confidential (I don't really exist) file and they couldn't track me down.

The car ride to the hotel was long and silent. I remained far too brooding and cranky that the possibility of starting up a pleasant conversation about the weather was out of the question. My eyes were bagged and grey, my mouth down turned into an impolite frown. I didn't know what the message in the alley meant and I didn't want to know – flashes of a man in a ballroom, stained red and alight with fire came to mind, but I stomped them into flat, pancaked nonexistence. This was all a bad dream.

The hotel was different this time (amazing I could tell, since they all seemed to hire the same, artsy-craftsy decorator who favoured beige curtains, randomly placed fish tanks and Persian rugs). I took the stairs (still a habit since my first night in Tokyo) and glumly dragged my feet to the hotel door. The Chief made sure I had a key, then said his farewells. He was needed to collect the team after last night's drinking fiasco, and left me in the care of L.

I didn't think this was very nice of him.

I dreaded opening the door, so much so that for a while I just stood there, holding the key up to the slot, motionless, deep in thought. The look on L's face from last night haunted me, and so did my behaviour. I would have to apologize. L would understand. No doubt he was worried about me, especially after what happened with those two men. Surely he wouldn't be still angry with me.

Surely...

Overriding my instinct to run away, I fought the urge and forced myself to enter.

L was sitting on the bench that was carved into the wall, looking out a large window down into the street below. His toes curled and uncurled, a motion that admitted my presence, but otherwise he did not turn around. He did not look up. Not even a hello. Miffed, and put off by this 'silent' treatment, I cleared my throat, announcing my arrival.

He flipped a page in a file, ignoring me, but his eyes remained still, unmoving.

I stepped forward urgently. "Look, L, before this goes any further I just wanted to say-"

"You slept at Light Yagami's house last night." He stated, more as a fact than a question.

I blinked, taken aback. I stopped in my tracks, just as I was about to grab his shoulder. Slowly, I retracted my hand from him, pulling away. I looked around. His laptop was shut, it did not buzz with life. _But, he never turns it off. _It was very unlike him, to cut himself off from the world. He flipped another page in his file. _Does he even know what happened? _I frowned, looking at him suspiciously. _He doesn't. He has no clue. He thinks I was making out with Light, and that I ended up going back to his place..._

That did it.

Very suddenly, an overwhelming surge of anger filled my veins like a volatile combination of redbull, pop rocks, and magma. I stomped my foot loudly to gain his attention (with enough force that I dented the carpet permanently, whoops). "You _idiot_!" I seethed through clenched teeth, biting back burning tears of rage that surged to the surface without their normal restraint.

L turned to look at me, and I noticed that the bags under his eyes were larger, he couldn't have gotten any sleep last night, but I could care less.

"Even with that great, big brain of yours you're _still _an idiot! Do you have _any _idea what I've been put through in the last twenty four hours? First, Ukita's funeral. Then that stupid bar – I've never gotten drunk before, just so you know. THEN I get attacked-"

At this, L stood up sharply. He opened his mouth to speak, but I was far from done. "NONE of which you were there for, by the way. But you know who _was _there? _Light_. Oh, yeah. _He _comforted me about Ukita's death, _he _was there for my first drink, _he _rescued me from those monsters in the storm. And where were you? No where to be seen. Probably safe in your boring, poorly decorated hotel, busy being dry and stupid."

"Sydney-"

"NO. _You-_don't-_get-_to-talk. _I'm _talking." My cheeks were wet with tears now, but I didn't notice. "You have no clue, no _inkling _of the sewer of crap I've had to wade through to help you. I've risked my life, oh, I don't know, probably ten times just to _meet _you. And do you care? Nope. I'm just another page in a file folder for you."

"If you'd let me-"

"What happens when you solve your mystery, L?" I was smiling now, but it was that '_I'm-breaking-down-and-I-don't-care-what-I-say-anymore' _kind of smile. The kind you crack when you've been pushed just a _little _too far over the edge. "What happens when I'm no longer a great big question mark, huh? Will you pack me up neatly like your other investigations, hidden away in a cabinet somewhere, collecting dust? WELL? Answer me!

L paused, as if unsure if I'd interrupt him again, or perhaps, for once, he was lost for words.

I breathed in shakily, trying to calm myself, but it only instigated another wave of salty tears. I held up trembling knuckles to my mouth, staring at the tacky gold swirls on the Persian rug, feeling my chest break as I tried to breathe and my knees waver as I lost my strength to fight anymore. "Where _were _you, L?"

_End of Chapter 28_

Feeling a bit down lately (lots of trains of thought that include 'what am I doing with my life?', 'will my parents ever approve of me?', boring stuff like that), but your nice reviews made me feel a little better (see, long, detailed reviews DO make me write). :) Sorry if I'm slow to replying to some of you guys and your questions. Overtime kills, but I _need _to buy new glasses (there, something about me, I'm blind)...and an mp3 player, an mp3 player would be nice.

Hanging in there,

Satchelle


	29. Oh, The Drama

**Chapter 29**

**The Answer We've All Been Waiting For: Where L Was Last Night**

L's strides were long and deliberate. He paced through the rain, casting aside its harsh, splintering curtain of water as if being sprinkled with harmless confetti. Forked lightning cracked open the depthless heavens above his head, illuminating the angry rolling and tumbling cloud-cover briefly with electrifying cobalt and violet flashes. The storm reflected his mood.

His hair had flattened, matted down by the constant downpour, and his clothes clung to his skin, weighted and sagging. A small, metal object hidden deep within his pants' pocket bounced against his leg gently, though it did little to calm his troubled mind like it usually did. None the less, he fingered it between his thumb and forefinger, warming the metal, searching for answers in the past.

His other hand was stiff from freezing rain and wind. His thumb was pressed so hard against his bottom lip that the skin had started to pale, and he suspected he had drawn blood. He stared darkly at the ground, creating miniature tidal waves in puddles with his steps. His shoulders hunched up to his ears, pointed pillars, like the spiked arches you see on church roofs. His back was bent, his hair whipped behind him - a black cloak dampened from wind and rain. He appeared as a brooding crow, flying through smothering wet smoke.

He was _not _thinking.

This...was an anomaly.

Something stopped him from forming cognitive ideas and analyzing events. He felt like a blind man, wandering alone in a strange land. All his senses were acutely amplified - his skin tingled, lights were brighter, sounds sudden and explosive. All the while his heart pounded, echoing like a single, deafening drum of war. With each beat a boiling surge of blood coursed through his veins, making his body sweat, rather than shiver, despite the cold.

It was incredibly distracting.

_Elevated heart beat, amplified senses, inability to think clearly..._

Realization clear cut as a bell ringing in an empty room stopped his movements short. He stood, swaying beneath a single, lonely street lamp. The yellow light sputtered and buzzed as the storm tired, the rain now lazily dripping from the sky. It was the soul illumination in a world misted with darkness. "I am angry." He mumbled, affirming the foreign emotion with a physical statement.

The sorrowful wailing of the wind lessened, then stilled.

L had rarely, if ever, experienced strong emotions. Not since he was very small. He had taught himself that everything could be analyzed, calculated and diagnosed. Everything was numbers and probability, nothing could be left to spontaneous reaction. Most emotions caused by chemical elevations or decreases in his brain could be quickly identified and suppressed, quieted by simple reasoning. In the last few days he had felt more, and more deeply, than in his entire life. What had changed? What distinct factor or single, constant variable could instigate such turmoil within his—?

Sydney.

Since she came he had experienced a resonant, almost magnetic longing for another. And when Ukita died, watching her break down on television over his cold body, an ache that still ate away in his stomach, which he associated with profound guilt. And in the hospital, when she fell, her eyes lifeless and her breath absent, a hollow sense of loss. And again in the bar when Light kissed her, but this time it was a burning sense of rage that bubbled his blood and tightened his muscles, mixed with slivers of jealousy that pricked his skin in irritation.

Sydney.

So engrossed with following this train of thought, L barely noticed that he had continued walking, until he had to pull his bare foot from a sinking mud hole. The mud crept up onto a stone pathway, slurping and drooling between soggy blades of grass. Trees, choked from city smog, dumped bucket-fulls of water onto unlucky passersby. The rain drummed against neat garbage cans and snaked down iron lampposts. Everything smelled of soil and worms. Oddly enough, unlike the streets, the park was alive with activity.

Children raced each other, wearing frightening masks of spirits and monsters, their noses elongated, their eyebrows and moustaches bushy, baring sharp, plastic teeth. They giggled, trailing bouncing balloons behind them as they pretended to fly. Couples whispered secret things into each others' ears, smiling coyly beneath black umbrellas. In the distance music played merrily with warped twangs from strings and pitched bongs from a stick smacking a xylophone, encouraging all to venture near. A warm glow welcomed refugees from the storm, emanating from a gigantic tent that speared the sky with dripping flags. L caught sight of a back-flipping clown pass across the open flap. Laughter and the smell of spun cotton candy burst against his senses. A ferris wheel creaked in rotation, rows of balloon darts and duck fishing and target practice vendors lined the pathways, calling loudly against competitors for the audience's attention and raising gigantic stuffed bears above their heads, vying for customers. A shrill scream raced through the night as the car of a roller coaster tipped, steadied, then plummeted down its track. A new scent of melted sugar and toffee met his nose, sending warm shudders through his body to his curling toes. L had not heard news that the fair was coming to town, but understood its attraction. These were dark times, and the people of Tokyo deserved a welcome distraction.

L watched all the happy people entering the tent and lining up for candy apples. Staring with a sigh, he turned away from the merriment. He did not belong.

Instead, not interested in returning to his hotel room just yet, he decided to rest his stiff, aching muscles. He sat down on a wet park bench and folded his legs up to his chest for comfort. Beside him, edged far away on the opposite end of the bench with one leg hanging off, was an odd looking man. He was not properly dressed for the weather, then again, neither was L. He wore a short, tanned leather coat, pale jeans and pointed boots (complete with spurs). His collar was open, showing off a colourfully beaded necklace adorned with ceremonial feathers (it matched his bracelet). On one hand each finger was dressed with a ring, mostly gold, though one was made from the skull of a desert mouse. The lip of his cowboy hat was tilted low enough to hide his eyes, but his tangled dreads were pulled back with a turquoise ribbon, exposing his face and neck. The cheek L could see was a puffy, infected purple, surrounding three deep gashes. Upon closer inspection, his clothing was torn in a few places, showing off matching purple skin beneath. He appeared as if he had gotten into a tussle with a wild animal. He was out of breath, and glared grumpily at the nearest ride – a merry-go-round.

"What are you looking at?" The stranger asked sharply, his eyes fixated on one particular facet of the ride that looked like a black unicorn, adorned in red and gold trappings.

L followed the man's gaze, examining the harmless unicorn. It was posed as if rearing back on its hind legs, eyes wild and proud. The way the artificial lights flickered across its resin surface made it look as if it moved within the shadows. "I am wondering where you ran into a panther in the middle of Tokyo?" He asked, nodding towards the man's injuries.

"Pff." The man snorted. "_Panther_, he wishes. No, just an extremely fat cat with an _uncooperative _attitude." The man took out a shiny, silver case. He pulled a cigarette from it, then paused, and offered one to L.

L refused, and the man shrugged. He snapped his lighter, cursing the rain. Finally getting it to light, he breathed in deeply, leaning his head back against the bench and staring at the clearing sky. "So," the man muttered, holding the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, "what's her name?"

"Who?" L asked absentmindedly, narrowing his gaze at the unicorn. The light truly was playing tricks on him, it looked as if it had actually _winked_.

"The girl that has you wandering around in this storm? Don't tell me you're just here for the festivities?"

L frowned. "I am not one to be so easily affected by-"

"Don't kid yourself, boy!" The man slapped his knee, laughing. "There isn't a man in the universe who's immune to the ways of a woman. One look," he snapped his fingers, "and BAM, you're hooked. What did she do? Let me guess. Rejection? Friend zoned? Ah, I got it. Betrayal huh?" The man shook his head. "Nothing worse. That pain in your chest won't go away, not for a long time. Don't fret over it, she's probably a real tramp."

"She is not-"

"Nothing worse than a lock that can be opened by a bunch of keys. Definitely not worth your time."

"She did not-"

"Absolute strumpet, honestly, where did all the classy women go? I bet she's been around the block with half the guys in-"

L moved so fast he hadn't realized he had jumped from his position, grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the back of the bench until it was already over. Breathing heavily, he continued to apply pressure to the man's body. "Do not," he said calmly, politely, "speak about her that way."

The man did something unexpected. He smiled – showing off extremely white, straight teeth, aside from one canine made from solid silver. "There it is. Can you feel it now, boy? That primeval instinct to protect and defend? We call that _love_."

"Who are you?" L demanded, pressing his knuckles deeper into the man's chest. "I have seen you before, just the other night on the balcony. What have you got to do with her?"

"You always were a sharp one, boy, but you just can't seem to fathom what's staring you right in the face. Open your _eyes_, there's more going on here, nothing is ever what it seems."

"I am not interested in a stranger's riddles." L said, his fingers clenching the fabric of the man's shirt. "This ends now. Tell me what you know."

The man raised his hands defensively, gesturing submission, but he didn't stop smiling a very knowledgeable smile, L couldn't help but feel that the strange man was playing with him. "Don't give up on her. She needs to know more than ever that you're worth it."

"Worth _what?"_

The man tipped his hat to him. "Fighting for, of course."

L's grip loosened, his hand fell to his side, limp. Who was this man? And better yet, who was Sydney?

The man adjusted his collar with a snap, loosening the stringy western-styled tie and brushing his fingers across the silver clasp. L noticed for the first time that there was a golden sheriff's star clipped to the inside pocket of his jacket. The man stood up, dismissing L's presence as non-threatening as he kept his eyes focused on the merry-go-round. "Don't bother fighting me, boy. You have no idea what you're dealing with." He gently pushed L to the side, who moved out of the way without objection. "You can call me Jerry." L's eyes moved back and forth, the stranger had jump-started his brain, now thoughts were spinning across his mind like tires on the asphalt of a grand, cosmic highway. The stranger itched the scratch on his cheek as he strode away, disappearing in the mirth of the crowd, but not before tilting his head to one side and tipping his hat once more to L. "I wish you all the luck in the world," he called back, and then he was gone.

He did not specify if the luck was good or bad.

L had much to ponder that night, the hurt he felt deep in his chest continued to surface every time Light and Sydney's intimate image came to mind, and made him retreat to a cold and numb place of safety. He ended up alone in the dark hotel room, wet, tired, but so very much alive. Alive with the mystery of it all, difficult puzzles were always the best kind. Fate's wheel of fortune was turning fast, the case was exploding with new information that needed to be dissected and analyzed, blooming with wonderful, brilliant questions. Yet how could he face Sydney again to ask them? L did not open his computer that night, instead he stared out a window that cried with sky's tears, letting the orange glow of the city wash him of its shadows. The stranger was a new player in their deadly game, and L was certain he was an integral, yet absent, piece. And then there was Sydney...

_Oh Sydney…_

**Present Day**

I was met with silence.

Simple, dumbfounded quiet that felt louder than any horn or instrument or explosion. It buzzed with tense stress, like invisible vibrations on a violin string, pushing us further apart. I knew the two words I wanted to hear, I also knew L would never ever say them. Not in a million years, when the air blew stale and the soil cracked into deep, boiling chasms. Not even in a billion years, when the earth dried up like a rotten apple core and the stars sank from the sky. I was alone in my own woven fantasy, a piece of driftwood floating in a dark and confusing ocean that whirlpooled around me, forever lost.

Not a word.

I withdrew, staring at my feet and cursing myself for my emotional outburst. How could this have happened? No one had ever made me feel so strongly before. Why did he make me feel so fragile? I wasn't a breakable china vase, needing to be handled with care or I'd fall apart. I was a fricken assault tank! Tough and durable, able to handle the roughest terrain, brushing off scratches and dents like they were nothing and blowing stuff up at the same time!

He didn't want me.

Another wave of sorrow and anger from my unspoken rejection made my legs feel weak, like jello. I looked away, not wanting him to see my puffy eyes or tear-stained cheeks any longer. I had never felt such a sense of embarrassment or shame or loss, not even when Mikal…

"I am sorry."

I blinked. _What? What did he just say? _Everything felt so tangled. Was he sorry because I was crying? Because he didn't love me and did not know how to express it? Or did he really…care?

Tentatively, hesitantly, he touched my shoulder as gently as he would brush a butterfly wing. His expression was hidden behind the jagged peaks of his bangs, but he was biting his lip, and his fingers were stiff, as if he was taking much effort not to form them into fists. His hunch was more prominent, not in a shy or submissive way, but genuinely apologetic. Suddenly, I realized the magnitude of what he had done. L did not say sorry, not ever. He was never wrong, from what I knew, and never had anyone to answer to. Even if his actions hurt another or put someone in danger, he took responsibility for all of them and always had a good reason for his behavior. The comprehension that he had shared that with me and no one else all but melted my fury and sadness. We had both made mistakes, and although those were not quite the words I wanted to hear, I knew he meant them.

"I-I'm sorry too." I mumbled, hugging my arm with on hand and rubbing the corner of my eye with the other. "I don't know what came over me…last night. I.."

The embrace was so sudden I didn't have time to react. His arms were long and surprisingly strong for such a skinny guy, and he pulled me close enough that my face was buried in his shirt. My eyes widened and I felt an involuntary ripple spread through my body, every hair on end, every nerve tingling. L's breath drifted down my neck and back, and I could hear his heart throbbing loudly, the beats of a panicked bird's wings, or a drum calling soldiers to arms. For a moment it was erratic, then the sound mingled with my own heartbeat, and then they were the same. Ba-dump-bump, ba-dump-bump, ba-dump...

Wow.

Everything was ablaze, my toes, my nose, even my eyelashes. As if his touch transferred an electric current that coursed through my bones and hair and skin, setting everything off balance. All my worries and stresses seemed to melt away, and he and I were all that remained. His smell, the flicker of his eyelids against my shoulder, the stretch of his fingers through my hair...nothing else mattered. This was beyond the companionship I felt with Mikal. This was light and smoke and FIRE. Vibrations raced through my veins and shocks of heat pulsed against my face. A foreign feeling of passion that danced in perfect harmony. A pair of red and golden phoenixes, spiralling and setting alight the night sky. THAT is how I felt, and I didn't want to let go.

L tightened his grip for a split second as if he too wished it could last longer, then pulled away, and the spark was immediately cut off. I felt my fingers linger on his shirt, then fall flat to my side. I looked up at him, face red, wondering if my expression betrayed how I felt. He was looking at me with such seriousness that I felt embarrassed, as if the simple act of a hug was about to change his life forever. And instead of feeling at ease, the trembling twitch at the corner of his eye and the stiffness in his back suggested he felt even more burdened by the realization than before. "Was that..." He started, seeming to struggle to find the correct word, "bad?"

I blinked. "Wha-no! No, no, no. Not at all! You can do that anytime! I mean..." I gripped my arms tightly and looked to the side, trying very hard to hide my smile. "Don't think you're getting off that easy. I'm still angry with you." But I wasn't.

"I admit," he stated, rubbing the side of his knee with an arched foot, "I am not proud of my behaviour. I am..."

"No! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have had so much to drink. Nothing happened between Light and I, I swear! I mean, nothing past first base!" I felt myself tripping over my words, gesturing as I tried to reason, but they all came bursting out at once in an incoherent mess. "I was just all...stupid and girly. It won't happen again! Well, I mean, I'm sure I'll kiss again, just not with Light! I mean, oh-"

He raised his hand and formed a 'thumb's up' sign, then pressed the soft pad his thumb firmly on my lips, keeping them closed. I crossed my eyes to look at it, feeling a familiar fangirl sensation flutter in my chest. "I know." He said quietly. "You do not need to explain. I am not entirely blameless either. I would like to hear you tell me everything that happened last night, I am very interested in these 'two men' you mentioned." I knew he had already surveyed my injuries, the blackened eye, the busted lip, scratches here and there covered in bandages. He removed his thumb and kept his usual monotone voice, but he was looking up at the ceiling in a slightly malicious manner, though it appeared at first as aloofness.

"Oh, don't worry about them, they're very much dead." I shuddered, feeling the familiar 'worms crawling in my stomach' sensation as I thought of their remains, and my face took a pale shade of green.

He glanced at me, his body frozen, as if I had hit the pause button on my VCR (Yeah, I still have one, what of it? It's retro), and after a moment he returned to fluid motion. He ignored what I said and gestured at the sofa for me to sit. "Would you like some tea?" He pulled a caramel candy from his pocket and unwrapped it between his thumb and forefinger as he stirred the pot, thinking deeply. He kept his movements airy and light, his voice back to normal. He always rolled over his words and paused in the oddest places, his thoughts already miles past his words, ready to reply to the next probable statement with ease.

So, despite my exhaustion, I sat with my legs tucked beneath me as I leaned uncomfortably on the sofa, drinking tea and telling my story for him. I was already well versed, having already told the Chief and several other officers who investigated me about what happened. L remained very unattached for the entire episode, and seemed to have a bottomless pocket of those sweets. He popped them like drugs, crunched strongly when I spoke of the two men in the alley, and stopped chewing altogether when I defended Light for his rescue. When I reached the part about the message under the dumpster, his face grew so dark and the air so thick with secret and evil thoughts I could have swam in it. I, not wanting to test Scab's promise of my early demise, did not tell him about my conversations with Light about the death note. It was the only thing I omitted.

After it was over I felt relieved, a weight lifted from my chest. There. L had much to think about now, and I decided it best to leave him to it. I got up to disappear to another room when a sudden urge came over me. I rushed over to him in short, quick steps and wrapped my arms around his body in a quick, hesitant hug once more. For a moment he tensed, his hand hovering around the small of my back, unsure, but I broke the embrace before he could hug me back. I raced away, calming the burning feelings that surfaced again, but just as I was about to complete my escape he voiced a question that made my hairs stand up straight and my skin chill.

"Who is Jerry?" He asked quietly.

I didn't turn around. "No one." I squeaked. And after a brief pause, I frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity."

"Ah." I hurried out of the room and allowed myself to breathe. _I can't believe I just did that. _But I knew things were better now. Our relationship hadn't been broken, only strained.

I quickly found the room that was meant for me, discovering a neatly folded note from Watari on an end table.

_To Miss Ella,_

_My apologies for Ryuzaki's current behavior, he is in a poor mood. I don't doubt that all will be rectified soon. _(I imagined him with a kawaii happy face)_. I have laid out clothes for you inside the dresser and dinner will be at six sharp. The rest of the team will be meeting for a briefing this evening shortly thereafter. I trust you will have sorted out the misunderstanding by then. If not, cheesecake will be provided with your meal. It is his favourite desert. _(Now his chibi face winked at me from behind framed glasses)

_Signed,_

_Watari_

I pondered over the note, written in fancy calligraphy and signed with sharp, quick letters. I had a feeling Watari may have purposefully neglected to tell L any other information aside from the fact that I had ended up at Light's last night. To cause an honest reaction, to try and make L feel something, to force me to say something, maybe only for his own amusement? It was hard to say. Why he would do that was beyond me - the old man had scheming written in his DNA.

I moved to the dresser. I was grateful to get out of my 'mom' clothes. No offense to Mrs. Yagami, but her fashion sense didn't coincide with my style. Not that Watari seemed to get the gist of it either – the clothes he left were void of any expression. No ripped jeans or concert t-shirts, no commando boots or tombraider tanks or even a fun striped tie, just a boring pair of wide black dress pants, gladiator sandals, a pale tank matching a (gawdawful) girly white blouse (I'm not over-exaggerating, the buttons were shaped like flowers). _Do I look like Martha Stewart? _I thought, wondering exactly how Watari saw me. From the get up, I assumed as a perfect little angel who knitted hats for kittens, went to church every Sunday and volunteered at soup kitchens. So I took it upon myself to tear the pants off at the knees, donned the tank and, unsure what to make of the blouse, kicked it under the bed (not before ripping off the sleeve and tying it above my elbow like a Yakuza). More comfortable in my bare feet, I ruined the shoes by ripping out one of the leather straps and using it as a make-shift headband to hold my bangs back, letting the rest of my hair fall down. _Great. _I thought. _Now I look like a cross between a yoga teacher and a gangster. _I wandered out to the main room, feeling famished, and was delighted to find a cart of steaming food waiting for me, right on time. Duck a l'orange, sautéed veggies and crisp, seasoned potato slices. Next to my platter was a glass of sparkling cider and an entire cheesecake (as promised).

I kept one eye on L in the corner, despite his apology and our impromptu hug, the air was still tense between us. His lap top was humming, but he had abandoned it to using chalk on the window (John Nash style), scribbling percentages and drawing arrows that made sense only to him. He didn't show it, but he must have been exhausted. I don't think he slept last night. I realized I hadn't seen him eat either, and wondered if he had ingested anything other than tea and sugar cubes all day. Gripping the bottle of sparkling cider, I gathered a plate of leftovers and carried it to him (complete with a larger than average portion of cheesecake). Not wanting to disturb him and still feeling awkward, I left it on the coffee table next to his leg as softly as I could. When I left, I thought I heard a quiet 'thank you', though it might have been my imagination. To keep myself busy and out of L's hair I stayed hidden in the entertainment room, flipping through the channels of a monstrous tv, working on my couch potato skills and envisioning multiple ways to set a bull dog on Light's manhood (involving a stealthy placement of a strip of bacon). I knew that, even though he seemed genuine in his apology and 'rescue the damsel in distress routine', Light couldn't be trusted. For all I knew he might have hired those goons just to play hero. Devious, cunning and dangerous. I wasn't going to take anything he said at face value.

As for the words found beneath the dumpster…I wasn't going to think about that. It didn't do me any good to dwell on crazy theories based on old ghosts, and would only drive me insane.

I felt safe here, a revelation which made me smile at its absurdity. This was Death Note, no one was safe, but with L just around the corner I could trick myself and relax. I sunk further into the cushions, feeling drowsy. A little time passed and I was just getting into a really good criminal drama show (I'm aware of the irony) when the sound of a door slamming woke me from my daze. Muffled shouts rose and fell in the background, and L's voice, calming but urgent, mixed with the noise. Curious, I drifted to the hallway and peered cautiously around the corner.

Aizawa stood at the center, looking bedraggled and stumbling like he was drunk. His normal, perfectly rounded afro was in disarray and slightly flattened. His eyes bloodshot and hollow, his words slurred but loud. His tie and jacket were nowhere to be seen. He was yelling at L. _I thought the Chief brought him home last night? Has he been at the bar all day?_

The investigation team stood in a semicircle around Aziawa, trying to reason with him. In rage at what was said, he pushed Matsuda out of the way when he tried to block Aizawa's advance to L. Ide and Mogi caught the young officer and shouted back at Aizawa, aghast, rallying to L's defense. L stood very calmly, speaking in a quiet but commanding tone. Straining to hear, I crept closer, hiding behind the corner of a china cabinet.

"Have you _seen _the news?" Aizawa exclaimed. "A double homicide and _who _did I see at the scene? That girl AGAIN!"

The Chief stepped forward. "Both my son and myself can account for Miss Krispy's whereabouts the night of the murders." He said firmly.

Aizawa swayed from side to side, fists clenched. He refused to drop the subject so easily. "This is the third time she's been caught near a dead man: once at the bar, now in the alley...and let's not forget Ukita."

Matsuda and the Chief roared objections, but Ide and Mogi glanced sideways at each other uneasily. "Aizawa has a point," Mogi said, "She knows more about the investigation than any civilian would. So far we've taken Ryuzaki's word that she's innocent, but what if Ryuzaki is wrong?"

"It wouldn't be the first time." Aizawa added darkly.

I wasn't sure if anyone else noticed, but L shifted his weight to the balls of his feet at Aizawa's statement, sticking his hands in his pants to appear casual, but ready to leap out of the way at any given time with the cool, flexible confidence of one trained in capoeria.

"Wasn't she even a suspect a little while ago?" Ide added, trying to reason, and the team shifted into uncomfortable silence.

Only L remained indifferently calm, staring down on enraged Aizawa. Aizawa was breathing heavy, his mouth furiously turned into a stubborn scowl, his eyes wide and his brow angled down, like a sharp, condemning 'V', exposing a vein in his forehead. He did not take his gaze off L. Aizawa spoke first, but this time he was controlled and straightforward with his wording. "She just doesn't add up. She knows too much, lies about everything from what she ate for breakfast to how she can disappear off camera without a trace! She's playing us all for fools! Why are we focused on a good kid like Light when it's so obvious who Kira _really _is?"

Silence. Would no one come to my defense? Did they all thing me guilty too, after everything I'd done for them, everything we'd been through? Even the Chief did not deny the possibility, but if it was between me or his son, he couldn't help but be biased, despite his good moral compass. Family came first, and I was not family. My shoulders fell.

"She is not Kira." L replied.

I looked up with a big smile, wishing nothing more than to give L a great big, sloppy THANK YOU kiss.

Aizawa pointed a finger of righteous judgment at L. "You're in _love_ with her," he stated matter-of-factly, and the expression on L's face made the room's temperature drop into the sub-zeros, though Aizawa did not seem to notice, "you've blinded yourself to the facts, how can we say for sure she's not Kira trying to infiltrate our investigation and pick us off one by one? Look what happened to the FBI agants. To Ukita!"

As Aizawa continued his rant, demanding they take me into custody for interrogation, I felt my heart sink. I knew Aizawa had disliked me from the start, maybe even mistrusted me, but he was so quick to knot a noose around my neck and let me hang. I knew he was sick with grief and wanted someone, anyone, to be punished and brought to justice for his friend's murder – but my throat still tightened, like the spring of a jack-in-the-box. I liked Aizawa's character so much, he was one of my Death Note favourites, but I couldn't let him pour mud on my good name (well, it's not _squeaky _clean, but certainly shinier than Kira's). I stepped into the light, muscles taught with anticipation at the coming conflict. "I didn't _kill _anyone." I replied, stating my innocence with my chin up. _Stare him down. Stay strong. He can't hurt you. He's just Aizawa, a good cop, a good father, a good husband, a good friend, a great guy. He's just sad. Just stressed. Just angry. He'll calm down. Talk him through it._

Aizawa turned on me without hesitation, causing both L and the Chief to take a step forward, arms ready to grab him, but I shook my head silently. I had to do this by myself, I couldn't have anyone defending me. "How did you know Ukita was in danger? You were confined to the hospital, there were no news reports that Ukita was on his way to Sakura studios." For a drunk man, he made a terribly good point.

I swallowed nervously, not prepared to answer that. "I just had a feeling—"

"How did you know who Matsuda was, were you stalking him?"

"No, but I—"

"Do you know who Kira is?"

"YES!" I leapt at that, not thinking it through, sighing with relief at a question I could answer perfectly.

Aizawa looked at me with a hard expression. "Who?"

My smile faded. I felt like I was being led to a pier surrounded by dry straw, hands bound, wearing rags, covered in dirt. "I can't…tell you that…"

"Why?" Now I was tied to the stake, torches flashed in the darkness. Everyone was screaming. _KILL, KILL, KILL! KILL THE WITCH!_

"B-because…" Smoke filled my lungs, I coughed, eyes watering. Flames licked my feet.

"The way I see it," Aizawa said, his voice like bullets tearing through my defenses the way an AKA 47 ripped apart sheet metal, "you're the most likely candidate for Kira, death follows you like a lost puppy, and anyone who trusts you ends up dead. You lie, cheat, steal, no sense to uphold the law…and we all know you have the most motivation out of anyone." His tone lowered, intimidating.

Fire roared in my ears, my hair singed from the heat. _KILL, KILL, KILL! _"Wh-what are you talking about?" My voice cracked.

"Don't play innocent! We all know about your parents' murder and your uncle's abuse. You were nearly raped if not for Light! Look what happened to the perpetrators, there was nothing left! You have the most reason to hate criminals _and _police officers. Admit it. YOU-ARE_-_KIRA!" Aizawa was breathing heavily from his speech, staring at me, the whites of his eyes showing.

I was burning alive.

It was like a wrecking ball had crashed through my perception of reality, shattering it into a million itty bitty jagged pieces. I immediately looked up at the Chief, who might as well have had 'GUILTY' written across his face in permanent ink for how obvious he was. _How long have they known? Since as far back as the hospital?_ He looked at his feet, shamefaced. "I am sorry, Ella. I know what you said was in confidence, but if we're going to catch Kira there can be no secrets between us."

With sudden horror, I turned to L, but nothing could be discerned from his blank expression. He knew. They all did. They haven't been treating me the same, I realized. Small looks of pity or suspicion flashed across their eyes when I wasn't looking, always wondering 'what if'. Just like when I was kid, no one's mom wanted their kid playing with the 'damaged girl', who could 'snap at any minute'. She was 'destined to be a troublemaker', maybe she was even crazy 'who could tell these days?' Now, because of her past, she was accused of being the most wanted mass murderer on the planet.

My body language said it all – hidden pain, anguish, fear, mourning. Every alarm of distress went off at once. I retracted, retreating to the back of the china cabinet, feeling like a trapped zoo animal in a cage being attacked with electric prods. I looked at my feet, hiding my troubled and now nervous expression behind my hair, curling my toes over each other, rubbing my wrists nervously. The shell that was the great and powerful, smooth-talking, knew exactly what to do and who to insult, athletic, strong, independent, self-confident witty (let's not forget humble) Ella disappeared like a puff of smoke. I didn't see anyone's flash of concern cross their faces, especially L's, I only saw my feet. "I didn't kill anyone." I murmured.

Aizawa faltered, but he didn't see what the others saw. He saw a retreat as an admittance of guilt, and that blinded everything else. He was convinced the girl in front of him had killed Ukita. Laughing, smoking, tough Ukita. Who could take on a guy three times his size and never drop his cigar. Who played baseball with him in junior high and wingman in college. Who was his best man at his wedding. She took him away from his family. She made his mother cry. She made him carry Ukita's casket. "Admit it." His voice lowered dangerously. The room was tipping, he knew he was tipsy, but that didn't matter. What mattered was taking Ukita's murderer to justice. He wanted to go home, to sleep beside his wife for once. He wanted to end this once and for all.

Slightly louder, I spoke again. "I _didn't _kill him."

"Admit it." Aizawa's voice was dangerous, a king cobra twisting into the air, exposing his fangs.

"I didn't do it." I said, more firmly, reinstating my confidence in my assured innocence.

Aizawa stomped down, fists clenched. The sinew in his neck tightened, his face reddening. "Admit it!"

"I never killed anyone!" I shouted back, tensing in defense, the way a porcupine bristled its needles.

"ADMIT IT!" He roared, heart filled with honorable rage.

"I didn't kill Ukita!" I cried, overcome with the will to try and make him understand mixed with my own, personal anger. Not thinking, I let the worst words possible leak from my lips. "I tried to _save _him, where the hell were any of you? I thought you were his friends? At least I—"

SMACK.

It all happened very fast. The back of Aizawa's hand flew, and I felt muscle strike my cheek bone. The force sent me careening into the china cabinet. Glass shattered, slicing my arm, and the cabinet teetered. I slipped to the ground, stunned, skin filled with bleeding shards. The Martha Stewart sleeve I had tied around my arm exploded with red. Shouts of denial, outrage, objections, cries for help. All sounded at once, but I did not move. I was in another place, back in my apartment. Aizawa, who looked horrified by what he had done, now had the unforgiving features of an unimpressed uncle, face twisted with regret. Not regret for what he had done, but regret that I was ever born. _Be grateful. _His voice echoed in the room. _Without me you'd be tricking on the streets. You should kiss my feet and beg me to let you stay. You couldn't survive on your own. You need me. Stop crying, Sydney. Disgusting child…_My blue eyes faded into greyness, void of life. I was a zombie, a mannequin, a plastic doll. I felt nothing, I did not hurt. I did not cry. I shut down. My body was still, limp, blank. I was unable to move when the shelves broke, sending broken blue china crashing to the ground like sharp shards of rain, and the entire structure teetered forward with a deafening CREAK. Someone called my name.

I shut my eyes.

CRASH!

Broken china and glass littered the ground, falling like dandelion petals in a sharp wind. The cabinet was raised just about my head, it shuddered. L stood, knees and elbows bent, supporting the entire cabinet on his back. He shook from the strain, his hair hiding his expression. "Miss Krispy is not Kira," he said, his voice groaned from the stress on his body, "I know this because," his body dipped for a moment as his knees buckled, but he remained upright, "if she were Kira she would have killed me by now." He bared his teeth, as if to scare off the weight on his body. "She knows my true name." I blinked away the emotionless fog that choked me and stared at him. For a moment we shared a look; L with a sense of cool intelligence and reverence, mine of grateful, slightly surprised adoration. _L…_

Everyone took a moment to fully absorb that information. The other officers, after a moment of shock, rushed to his aid. With their help, they pushed the cabinet off to the side. Aizawa was backing away from everyone, shaking his head, looking at his hands, dismayed and shocked. "Ella, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…" He turned and ran, racing out the door. Mogi and Ide turned to follow but the Chief ordered him to let Aizawa go.

L brushed his jeans off and stretched around. His shoulders and upper back were covered in tiny shards of glass, sticking out of his body like the blades on the back of a stegosaurus. With a sigh he lifted the hem of his shirt over his head and started picking at them, as calm as if he was removing sticky burrs from a fleece jacket. The Chief offered his hand to help me up, but I refused him. Standing with wobbly legs, I inspected my arm. It wasn't so bad. I at least wouldn't have to go to the hospital for it. Just a few scars, maybe, nothing major. I would have to go through the wounds with a pair of tweezers though, and would need a bucket of disinfectant to avoid the scratches inflaming.

"I want Aizawa off the team." L said, inspecting a particularly large shard of glass between his thumb and forefinger.

"Absolutely," the Chief started, "I'll assign him to—"

"No." They all turned to me. _He can't leave. Without Aizawa's help in the future, we're all screwed. _"I will speak to him. But he stays. Aizawa is not a bad person. I don't blame him, and I'm not angry. If I were in his position I would probably think I was Kira too. He took action on a path he deemed right, and no one can expect less of him for it." I felt pleased with myself and my smart, logical statement of his character.

"But Miss Krispy," Mogi stated, flustered, "he struck—"

"Your point?" I shot back. "Aizawa is an amazing officer, a decent friend and family man. You _need_ him." _More than you know._ _I won't be responsible for alienating him from the team. "_I won't let a little slap ruin everything. We were both upset." I inhaled a shuddering breath, hoping I would not regret it. "I forgive him. Simple as that. Now go find him before he jumps in front of a car."

L watched me carefully, and after a moment of silence, nodded to the Chief. Soon everyone had hurried out of the hotel room, leaving L and I alone with a first aid kit, figuratively licking our wounds. I sat on the counter, legs folded, wiping polysporin by the glob-ful onto my arm, wincing. I noticed L was having trouble, using a small hand mirror to find the shards in his own back. "Here," I hopped off the counter and stood behind his chair. I inspected his back, pulling out shards as gently as I could. They were worse than mine, but shallow. He was definitely going to have noticeable scars for life, but they would heal fast. I wasn't even freaking out because he was shirtless (later, later), too focused on the task at hand. When I was done, I cotton swabbed each scabbing red stripe and applied the bandages.

"Thank you. For stopping the cabinet...and sticking up for me."

"I merely told the truth."

"It was more than that, and you know it…" I started packing up the medical supplies. "So um, about what Aizawa said, you know, you being in love with me and all."

"He did say a great many things, didn't he?"

"Yes…I suppose he did." I said, secretly making a mental note that L had not affirmed nor denied it. I was going to probe L further, but the front door opened. A submissive Aizawa sauntered into the room, eyes on the floor, shoulders sagging. L observed him closely from the corner of his eye, subtly adjusting to a distant but protective stance. My heart went out to him. Aizawa would never hit a woman, it wasn't in his character. _Is this all I'm good for? _I thought. _To be disruptive_? _I've only made things worse. If I wasn't here Aizawa would never have besmirched his honor. DAMNIT All of this is just WAY too OOC, and it's all my fault. _

I waited, and no matter what I had thought, I didn't expect what happened next. Aizawa fell to his knees at my feet, a broken man. He bowed. "I know I cannot take back my actions, Miss Krispy. They were wrong of me to do. I can only apologize with all my heart, and hope one day you can forgive what I have done." Every one of his muscles was tense, as if he expected to be kicked or stomped on.

I knelt down, gripping his shoulder. "Aizawa, I forgave you five minutes ago. Now get up and stop crying. You're a police officer. Set an example for goodness sake."

He looked at me, eyes wide with astonishment. Then his face hardened. "Of course," he went to adjust his tie, realized it wasn't there, so instead rebuttoned his shirt. "I hope you and I can work together to catch Kira once and for all."

"For Ukita." I said gravely.

"For Ukita." He nodded.

_End of Chapter 29_

I KNOW, I've been away forever and a day, which is why this A/N is so long.

I must have written this chapter, like, five times and even NOW I'm not sure if I like everything in it. (Although some reassuring reviews would help, hint hint). I kind of wrote it in sections over these last couple months. How should L react? How can I do this without going all OOC on Aizawa? I really tried to make the incident come to a natural, slow boil and then a BANG. I hope I did a good job. Is L meeting Jerry a good idea? I don't know. But I DO know I have to update. I've been writing scenes from chapters WAY in the future too, trying to expel my writer's block (there was this one particular shower scene…ahem). I really only get the chance to write on the bus now on my ipod in fifteen minute intervals on my way to and from work. So it's really a matter of what my muse is at the time.

SO, updated news.

Thank you to Prophetesse Mauguiniste (aka Lou Celestial) for posting the first chapter of this in French on her profile. C'est magnifique!

bluenewa96 posted the very first fanart of my fanfic EVER (It's like the Twilight Zone) online. Check it out at: deviantart art/ Not- a- Joan- Jett- Fan- 338449102 (get rid of the spaces, fanfiction is weird about links.) Let's all give her a round of applause and lots of love on the web! (You're fabulous).

And to you guys! Your reviews are literally the best things about my day. (I know, it's sad isn't it?). Feel free to shout your ideas (go ahead, use ALL CAPS, I don't mind). I know the plot of my story, but sometimes you guys give me a really good twist that keeps the wheels in my brain turning. And I want to know what you're expecting, not expecting, hoping for, hating bla bla bla. All of which makes me a better writer. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. (Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors, it's two in the morning again).

Your humble, grateful fan.

~Satchelle

PS: A few of you have asked me to update for your birthday. Some of you I made it in time, some I didn't. But to all of you I wish a VERY happy b-day, belated or otherwise! May there always be cake in your future! AND it's my birthday on the 25th. YES! Finally, I'm old enough to drink (legally, not that I've ever done so ILLEGALLY...cough...cough). If it were up to me: Cake for everyone!

Happy Thursday everybody!


	30. Red Water

**Chapter 30**

_Sydney's Dream_

I was sitting on a four-post bed, in the middle of a cool ocean, drifting along as moonlight poured through the pale canopy like liquid silver. I clutched the sheet to my chest and watched the dark water lap up against the side, I could see the tails of distant whales slap the surface and feel the vibrations of their sad, surreal songs. Lilies broken from their stems coasted around my pillowed vessel, their petals fully extended, like the satins skirts of spinning ballerinas. The scent of salt clung heavily to my skin and hair, which was tangled and draped down my back, and filled my nose so thickly it made me sleepy. I was wearing a thin silk slip, white as the blankets, that reached to mid-thigh, with straps that kept falling down my shoulders. The sky was bright with northern lights, they snaked across the deep expanse like residue from a painter's brush, or the fluttering neon hair of a giant ethereal woman. Aquatic greens, sunflower yellows and blushing pinks graced the cloudy pallet, and reflected off the rippling water. I shivered, rubbing my arms and watching as my breath crystalized in the air. An iceberg drifted past and I curled my toes under the blankets, trying to warm up.

"Allow me," A man's voice whispered.

Graceful fingers slid across my collarbone as someone slipped behind me and rubbed my shoulders with strong but gentle squeezes. Two legs wrapped around mine and pulled me closer until I was pressed against their bare chest. Hot breath dripped down my neck, smoking into curling clouds in the air as it made my skin flush with new warmth. A quiet kiss behind my ear, and I could hear him breathing in the scent of my hair. His hands glided down my arms, entwining his fingers with my own and bringing them up to cross my chest, holding me tightly. Another kiss in the crook of my neck and I felt my back arch. _That voice, I know that voice…_

"L?" I asked, nervous, my body shaking in expectation of the answer.

When I tried to turn my head, a large palm clamped down over my eyes, keeping me facing forward. "Don't speak." He said, and kissed my shoulder.

I felt my heartbeat quicken, beating loudly in my ears, sending blood to brighten my cheeks. It _was _L. L was in my dream, and we are on a bed, and he was…"Oh," I couldn't help but let the moan escape my lips as his hands moved up my arms and down my sides, following the curve of my body, moving past the fabric of the lingerie to the bare skin of my thighs…

BOOM!

Lightning cut across the tranquil northern display and turned the sky a scorching and shredded yellow. Suddenly the ocean, that had been peaceful and calm, turned into a violent rage. Waves dipped and rolled the bed, rising like hills on the track of a rollercoaster and sending the vessel spinning. I tumbled head over heels forward, but I flailed and grabbed the bed post, clutching it to keep myself from being bucked off. I struggled to stand, clinging to the post and staring with wide, frightened eyes at the scene before me. The water frothed with new energy and the heavens opened, drenching us in seconds with freezing droplets that stung on impact. My lips turned blue and my fingers and toes purple. The sky remained a sickened yellow, as if the lightning's flash remained. The flowers around us were ripped apart by the torrent and replaced with the floating bodies of dead fish, changing the salty smell to that of decay. The sheets and canopy were dragged into the water by the current, disappearing into the graveyard of water below and leaving us exposed. "L!" I screamed.

He stood at the bed's center, shirtless, legs bent and arms outstretched for balance like a skateboarder. At the sound of my voice he turned to look at me, and took a step forward with one hand outstretched, as if to protect me. A wave rose with a deafening roar, skyscraping into the air, casting a dark shadow over us. The bed was pulled slightly into the wave, rising with it, but it curled and slammed down with bone-crushing force. I couldn't close my eyes, and watched in horror as the water swirled around me and cast L off the side and into the ocean. For a moment I was submerged, and when the bed finally resurfaced I was on my knees, holding the bed post. L was gone.

The ocean suddenly calmed, and the sky deepened to a ruddy orange colour. Everything started to change, as if the world melted and then solidified into a new, horrible reality. The icebergs turned into flaming, floating piers, where girls my age were chained, screaming as their bodies began to crisp. Towers of smoke dotted the sky and hazed the air, filling my nostrils with the odour of burning flesh. The dead fish sank with sullen plops and the water bubbled, turning black-red and thick, like blood. There were no waves or ripples, just a never ending expanse of hell itself. I no longer shivered, in fact I was starting to sweat. My silk slip was gone, replaced with crimson lingerie that laced around my body, including red garters that clung to my thighs. A ruby pendant dropped down my chest, and matching earings and a bracelet appeared as well, snaking up my arm. My hair was tied in a messy, curled updo, held in place with a pair of ruby pins. _What's going on?_

"Help me." A weak voice echoed.

I turned. A dark-skinned girl sniffed, dirty tears rolled down her cheeks. She had curly, aubern-dyed hair and was dressed in nothing but a white, long sleeved shirt. One that looked suspiciously like L's…which wasn't important right now. Her arms were tied behind her back, chained around a wooden stake. She sobbed again. "Please! I just want to go home! Tell him. Tell him I want to go home." More tears, she closed her eyes, grimacing in fear.

I grabbed the bed post and reached for her desperately. "Can you move?"

"No." She shook her head. "M-My name is Thalia. Thalia Crooks. Tell, tell him I want to go home."

I growled in frustration and got ready to dive, but she screamed "NO! Don't touch it." I hesitated. "It's poisoned." She wept. "One girl managed to get free and jumped in, h-her…face melted off."

"I can't let you die!" I looked around for anything I could use, frantic, trying to keep my mind off the fact that L had fallen in that stuff. My eyes settled on the bed post. I kicked it with my heel, stumbling backwards from the force. Determined, I kicked it again. This time it snapped off. I grabbed the pole and leaned out as far as I could, trying to catch it on the pier to pull myself closer. I stretched until my body started to shake. DAMN. This isn't working!

"Tell him."

This girl had to get her priorities straight, I was trying to save her, not be her messenger. "Tell who?" I started paddling with the pole, but all it did was make the bed slowly start to spin…And it kept spinning, even when I stopped paddling. I stood up, panicked as a whirlpool began to form. I cast away the makeshift paddle with a plop, and then it was sucked down into the bloody water.

"Tell Jerry I want to go home."

I had to keep looking over my shoulder to keep her in my line of vision as the world raced around me. "J-Jerry? How do you know Jerry?"

A flame flickered at the base of the pier, and she screamed in terror. She showed the whites of her eyes as she shouted for mercy up at the sky, her gaze falling on all the other writhing girls around her, and she started to struggle, wrenching at her chains. "Don't give it to him. No matter what he does to you, don't—" But her words were lost in coughs from the gathering smoke. I edged back to the end of the bed and bent my knees, mentally preparing myself. Acidic blood or not, I would have to try and jump. But before I could take another step, the flames shot up around her with a greedy roar and licked her skin. I shut my eyes tightly and held my hands to my ears, falling to my knees, but I couldn't block her screams. The whirlpool spat the bed out and it continued its course through the flaming piers, almost conveniently so, as if I never had a chance of saving her. Once I was a distance away I looked back to see the skeletal remains of her blackened body, her eyes had burst and oozed down her flaky cheeks, her teeth were cracked but still intact, freezing her jaw into a freaky, tortured smile before going up entirely in smoke.

I gripped the mattress between my fingers, holding back vomit._ This is a nightmare. This isn't real._

A SLURPing sound came from my right.

Cautiously, I approached the side of the bed and peered over the edge. SPLASH. I hand emerged from the red ocean and grabbed the edge of the mattress, making me jump. "L!" I cried, rushing to grab his wrist. Now his black hair, soaked in red, was visible. "How did you survive the aci…?" My words drifted away from my lips, like a dry leaf in an autumn wind.

His head flipped back as he climbed onto the mattress so I could see his face. A pair of sadistically delighted eyes looked at me and I was met with a large, bloody smile. I let go of his wrist as if being struck with an electric shock. I stumbled back, falling with a bounce onto the mattress as he crawled forward, moving with the deadly persistence of stalking jungle cat, or a centipede slowly approaching its kill. He left red handprints on the fabric and I shuffled further away, pressing up against the headboard and lifting my chin in revulsion as he shoved his face towards mine. He arched over me and tilted his head to the side, still grinning. He raised one hand to brush a strand of my hair from my face, looking me up and down as if surveying a juicy meal. "Alone at last."

I bent my knee and lifted my leg, applying pressure with the bottom of my foot to his chest. "Get back." I warned.

"I love the outfit," He ran a single finger down the length of my neck to the pendant and picked up the ruby, pretending to examine with a pleased expression, "how did you know I like red?"

I inhaled a shivering breath.

The dark-haired man leaned closer, whispering in my ear. "You look so beautiful in that colour, just like your mother."

A short, gasping intake of breath and a flicker behind my eyes, then a shriek of fury ripped from my throat and I kicked him away. He landed on his back, laughing maniacally. I glared at him with wrathful justice and clawed at my neck, I tore away the pendant and threw it at him, forcing myself to my feet, unable to contain my rage. I yanked off the bracelet and tossed it too, striking him on the head, but he didn't stop laughing. My throat was sore from my guttural yells of loss and anger and fear, but I couldn't stop. I did the same with both earrings, not noticing as they started to bleed from being ripped from my flesh. When I pulled out the pins that held my hair, I cast them aside into the water, and did not bother to wipe the fallen strands from my face. Breathing heavily, I clenched and unclenched my fists, shoulders tense, shaking with anger.

He propped himself up, licked his lips and picked up the pendant, twisting it playfully in his hand and letting the human-fueled fires around us flicker off the stone. He looked at it with half-lidded eyes and a small smile that curved up on one side. "I'm sorry, did I upset you?" He hopped to his feet and threw the pendant up in the air only to catch it again.

"What do you want?" I hadn't realized, but I had started to cry. The tears seared my cheeks, steaming, and evaporated in the heat. By now my hair was disheveled and my skin was covered in black streaks, remnants of the smoke mixing with my sweat. "T-to kill me?" I asked, trying to stop my lip from trembling. "Drive me insane?" I gestured wildly at the screaming women around us. "Burn me?" I shouted.

"Can I choose all of the above?"

"FUCK YOU."

"Now _that _sounds like fun."

I stomped my foot, which made the bed tip one side slightly into the water. I breathed in the scent of death and fire, letting it fill my lungs, my thoughts, my soul. My eyes darkened. "You killed those men from the alley."

He perked up, his smile widening. "Did you like my little present?" He flicked some blood from his hair, then rubbed the remnants between his finger. "I did it just for you."

"You're so _thoughtful_," I gritted my teeth.

He placed his hands in his pockets, "You're making me blush."

"I hate you."

"I know." He strode forward and placed a hand on my cheek, as if to comfort me. I went to slap it away, but he grabbed my wrist. His hand changed position and he gripped my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "It burns inside of you, the desire to make me suffer, to kill me. I see it. So much _potential _wasted in you. Imagine carving into my flesh, hearing me scream and making me _wriggle_ for my crimes against you. That _satisfaction, _that _pleasure_ you would feel." He forced my head to turn at an angle, eyes flicking back and forth, examining me. "We're more alike than you think." He said quietly.

I spat in his face, and he took a step back, wiping it from his cheek. "You're wrong." I said, shaking my head. "I'm done with these games. What did you do with L?"

With a non-chalant shrug and a sigh he closed his eyes, the topic clearly boring him. "He is not your concern," he said irritably, and suddenly stood up, gesturing femininely with his hands. "L this, L that," he mimicked a girl's high pitch, "L let me help with the investigation. I know who Kira is, L! L, do you want to eat chocolate strawberries with me?" He lifted the pendant from his pocket, letting it swing hypnotically on its chain for a moment, then flicked it into the nearest pier, watching the flames choke their victim with a brooding expression. "No one ever thinks of _me_."

I frowned. He was referencing the Kira case. How did he know about it? I looked with new horror at all the girls around me. Were they…travellers to? Had they been sent here, like me, to stop L from dying? Thalia's final words rang in my mind. _"Tell Jerry I want to go home." _Had he hunted all of them?

"Why?" I asked, my body slumped, weak with distraught. "What did they ever do to you?"

He froze in the spot. Slowly, like a mechanical toy, his head turned to look over his shoulder. It shook, rigid, as if it were powered by rusty gears. He stared at me from behind black bangs with a single, wide, red eye. I flinched, the image of the very same eye looking at me behind the crack of a door flashed in my mind. His expression was void of any emotion, but I sensed a darkness suddenly rising, like a toxic cloud of smoke billowing around him and spreading outwards, infecting everything it came in contact with. "They're _filth_." He rotated his body to match the direction of his face and took a step towards me, a large and thin smile spreading across his face. "I chased them, caught them across all of time and space. Calling themselves '_fangirls'_. Wanted to _save _him. As if they were _worthy_." He stepped forward again, towering over me, looking down, unimpressed as the images of his kills crossed his memory. "Never did I think _you, _Sydney, would be one of the girls he sent. How _excited _I was. Finally, someone _special. _A _challenge_." A low chuckle rose from his chest, deep and foreboding.

Each of his twisted words felt like a personal stab deeper into my chest. The knife spiralled, digging into my heart at the word 'special'. He placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back with a SLAM into the headboard, my skull bounced off the wood and I winced. I looked up at him, frigid, my body turning to stone. "I knew killing you would be so much sweeter than the others. They didn't have the _will _to fight for it. Their puzzles were so much easier than yours. Easily _dissected. _I can still feel them," he gestured to the center of his chest, bowing his head, "their sparks, inside of me. How simple it was to make them give it up, the torture didn't last long at all."

I looked at my feet, frowning, deep in thought. He was stealing their sparks? Didn't James say the more sparks you had, the more powerful a traveller you are? I looked around at all the other smoking corpses of the girls around me. How many had come to Death Note? Twenty, fifty, a hundred? Did Jerry know about this? The girl's voice came to mind again. _"Don't give it to him. No matter what he does to you." _

"But you're strong," he ran a red-stained fingernail across my bottom lip, it was jagged and bitten down to the nub, "_you're_ willpower is a rare delicacy. The _temptation_—"

BAM!

The stranger stumbled back, clutching his jaw with his one hand. I retracted my fist, trying not to show how much my knuckles hurt. "There is a saying they have in New York City," I took a boxer's stance, the one Mikal had taught me. "Go to hell!"

He pranced back to his feet, revitalized, laughter bubbling from his lips. "Oh-ho, there it is, the fire, the _spark_." His reaction made me feel hesitant, my shoulders fell and my stance loosened, but I held my ground. "You're forgetting one little thing, Sydney." He snapped his fingers and the red ocean around us began to bubble and boil, shaking the bed like an earthquake. "This _is_ hell." Corpses started to rise from the water, heads hung loosely, limbs limp. Blood dripped off their bodies in heavy splashes, all were decaying. "But it's not mine." The corpses began to walk, crawl, slink towards me by the hundreds, maybe the thousands. Their steps wobbled on the surface of the bloody sea, but they did not sink. And then they started to grow taller…no…not them…I was becoming shorter…I was sinking…The bed slowly descended, swallowed whole by the red water. The liquid crept up my feet, to my ankles, then my shins and knees. At first I thought I was going to melt, the way Thalia described, but it only felt warm, like saliva. It clung to my skin, bringing me further into the drink until the bed gave way beneath me and I fell into sea. Gasping, I struggled to swim, splashing for anything to hold onto. The corpses, all with faces of people I know, sped up, as if sensing my distress. One wore a shredded suit and tie, with Ukita's haircut, his eyes and mouth were stitched shut. Another resembled my mother, her head hung from her neck by nothing but bleeding veins. Another looked like Mikal, his body shrunken and bony from sickness, his skin flaking off like dust in the wind. They came crashing down on top of me, clutching at my legs and shoulders, dragging me under the surface. They screamed like banshees and moaned like zombies, all wanting a piece of me. I struggled, gasping for air, spitting out the thick, salty liquid.

The stranger stood on top of the water with ease, gazing down at me with a serious expression. "You asked me what I want from you, Sydney." His eyes reflected the red of the ocean and the fire behind it, drinking in my panic. I choked on a gulpful of what I now was certain was blood, spitting it down my chin and neck as I fought to tread and keep myself afloat. Someone's hand scratched at my face, another entangled into my air. "At first it was your blood, your screams, to see the look on L's—" He spat the name, "—face when he discovers all the _terrible_ things I did to you, but now that I know what you are…" A dead jaw clamped down on my collarbone. Rotting fingers covered my mouth, pushing more of the liquid up my nose and keeping me from screaming. I could barely make him out from behind the haunted grins of the monsters skulls as I slipped beneath the surface, his face completely void of any compassion. "I want your spark."

And then everything was red.

_End of Chapter 30_

This chapter went to a VERY dark place, I hadn't meant for it to be like this. In fact, I was actually inspired by Huntra and her plot theory to write it, which is why you guys should tell me your ideas more often. If you serve as inspiration, I'll credit you in the chapter and everything (which is another way of saying ILOVEYOURREVIEWSYOUGUYSAREAM AZING). Very pleased with it though. I know it's not long, but I hope it satisfies your fan-needs. I've got most of the next chapter written too, so there shouldn't be a long wait to find out what happens to Sydney. As always, tell me what you think!

From the fan who wishes she could do this full time AND pay bills too,

~Sydney

PS: Man, this is getting long.

PSS: Check out my profile, I FINALLY updated it and spelled out some of my main ideas. Feel free to PM me any comments.

PSSS: And just to reiterate what I said prior, if you DO end up drawing any of this, lemme know and I'll post the link so everyone can see it too! :)


	31. A Day in the Life

**An Exert from a Dusty Journal Hidden in a Pawn Shop**

_You know that moment, we all do. It's morning, but early enough that it's still dark, where you're warm and comfortable and safe. Right in the middle of waking and dreaming, when everything feels the most impossible and the most real. And even though you know your alarm is about to ring, and that you have to wake up, you still curl tighter into a ball and wish yourself deeper into that dreamworld. Because it's easier to slip away, to fall back asleep, than to put on a brave face and meet the daylight. _

_Then your alarm buzzes, and the beautiful colors and ideas of your subconscious are wrenched away to be replaced with the grays and neutrals of a normal existence. You feel as if you've dived headfirst into a pool of freezing water, blasting past the ice, unable to breathe. Your eyelids are heavy, and your feet sore from escapades of the night before, but you keep going. You wipe away your sorrows and your troubles of yester-year and flip on the light switch, yawning away the bad memories and nightmares. You go through your day, and finally when the sun goes out and you can crash into your pillows like an avalanche on an unsuspecting village once more, you welcome the dreams again. Wondering why it can't last forever. _

_You see, we sleep because our bodies require that nurturing, that escape. We crave that twilight moment of waking and dreaming over and over, and the more difficult reality becomes, the harder it is to let go of that moment. There are cases where you die in your sleep, no explanation, no natural cause. What physicians and the law of science fail to realize is how powerful that draw into the dream can be. How tempting it is to give up, and wake no longer. To escape to a place where your pain is gone, where there are no expectations, only wonders._

_But there are a few. A very small few who are beaten and broken repeatedly, kicked to the ground when they have nothing to stand on, or stand for. But despite their struggle, they fight for air and swim for the surface with all their might, no matter the cost. This is the incredible quality of _will_, a trait often ignored. Only those with a strong will can travel between the cruelty of temptation and reality without losing themselves first. And trust me, they are very, very hard to come by._

_Don't be discouraged though, the story isn't over just yet. Because despite the odds, I found one. _

_A little Canadian girl._

**Sydney**

I reviewed the playbook with an arched eyebrow, my nose twitching from the solid layer of dust that rested on its yellowed pages, chewing away at a piece of bubble gum. We were reviewing Shakespeare for school (when I say reviewing, I mean the class. I, however, was using it as an opportunity to pick up on old-swear-lingo. Much like: thou paunchy, onion-eyed measle or thou artless, crook-pated giglet' and the like. It's a work in progress.)

My eyes flicked down the paper, glazing over as the enormity and complexity of the paragraphs scared off any chance of me trying to translate. I sighed, flipping through the pages, and blew a grape-flavoured bubble. 'Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon-'

I snapped the book shut. _What a load of-_

"Sydney, are you even listening?"

My head snapped up and my bubble popped, painting my face with purple. "No." I said automatically, trying to peel the sticky substance off my nose, and was met with a torrent of muffled giggles.

Ms. Frost, my senior year English teacher who MORE than lived up to her name (let's just say the abominable snowman has nothing on her when it comes to an icy demeanor), had a bony hand perched on her hip. Her lips were pursed into such a small pout that I wouldn't be surprised if they had been frozen shut. She was the kind of person that you could tell used to be extremely beautiful, but the pains and stresses from years of handling rowdy highschoolers (myself included) marked her skin with harsh wrinkles like the dips and crevices of an antarctic landscape and grayed her short, spiky hair until it turned a snowflake-white. Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses, and despite her stick-thin frailty of an older woman, she strode towards me with the purposefulness of a deadly blizzard.

"I was _asking _the class what their favorite books are. Please," she spread her arms wide in a welcoming gesture and flashed a smile that would make babies cry, "enlighten us with yours."

I leaned back in my chair lifting my feet up. "Uh, ones with lots of pictures." I smiled back and leaned casually forward on my elbow. "If you need to borrow my clearly superior taste in literature, I can offer suggestions." I wasn't being _completely _cheeky, I did like books with lots of pictures. Manga to be specific (I was actually considering tackling a manga with a Moriarty vs Sherlock twist, though I was leaning more for the anime after hearing about its daunting excerpts in dialogue and the rumor of a particular sexy tennis scene) _Uh-oh, she _does_ look angry._

The teacher's eye twitched, then flickered, making the switch from criticizing my intelligence to my posture. "How many times must I ask you to remove your feet from the desk?"

"Just once more, I swear."

Another bout of giggles was quickly silenced as the teacher glared around the room. "Disrespectful. Dishonest. Distracting the class! You," And she pointed at me with an angry, quivering finger, "are not a student. You are a barn animal!"

"Whatever you say, thou fishified, rampallian barnacle." I muttered, grinning as the rest of the class burst into laughter.

"You dare-"

"I'm not done thou toad-faced, reeky minnow!"

A few students fell off their chairs, clutching their stomachs. I stood and took several short bows.

"Why I never-"

"Thou poisonous, wart-necked scut!" I cried, throwing my arms in the air.

"THAT IS IT!" She slammed her hand on the desk and the class jumped in unison, sitting straighter in their chairs.

"Well, maybe I went a tad too far with the last one..." I said tactfully.

"You know what I have to do now, don't you Sydney?" She asked, frazzled.

I saluted. "Yes'm, Principal's office it is." And leaped from my chair (I had zero intentions of going to anyone's office, instead I was already planning on a nice day at the market, well, stealing the market blind, that is), but before I could take one more step, Ms. Frost interrupted.

"No, Sydney. Third strike. I'm calling your Uncle directly, he can pick you up."

Like the north wind, her words froze the blood in my veins and caused a shiver to rise up my spine. "Fine with me." I whispered, feigning indifference. "Thou lumpy, plume-plucked mammet." I muttered, then hopped over a desk and ran from the room, evading a well-aimed eraser and smiling to myself as I heard her attempt to calm the guffawing classroom.

**The Front Steps of the School**

I sat with my arms supporting my chin, feeling defeated on the front steps of the school. My gum had lost its flavor, and I watched aimless as bits of garbage floated by on the breeze. No need to act cool here, no one was watching. I waited as my Uncle's car pulled up, tires squeaking to a halt. He did not step out, only leaned over the front seat, opened the door and said gruffly "Get in." Head bowed, I shuffled inside the heated car, thumbs twiddling. The ride was silent and foreboding. I knew I was in trouble, and I flinched at any sudden movement from the corner of my eye. I tried to focus on other cars we passed, playing the license plate game I learned from my father when he had taken me on his trucking trips for work. (I've always had trouble with my letters, and this is how I learned the alphabet. Of course, that was a _long _time ago.)

We were parked safely inside the building's garage, and I thought I might have gotten away with a warning, when the back of his hand came into view. My head flung to the side from the force of his strike and smacked the window with a dull 'thud'.

"I had to leave work, _again_, because of you."

I nodded quietly, staring out the window, refusing to look at him. I tried to center my attention on the blinking red light at the entrance. I was seeing double, the world spun and I felt sick to my stomach – not too bad, I hadn't passed out. He was going easy on me today.

"You are an embarrassment to this family."

_What family? _I thought, but didn't dare say it aloud.

My uncle licked his lips, gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He turned his head away, sighing. "Your parents would be ashamed."

My face fell and I rubbed my cheek, numbing the pain. I felt the skin on the back of my neck turn red. What would he know what mom and dad thought?

He glanced at me, and as if my appearance was a personal affront to his character, and the fire in his eyes was reignited. "Insolent brat, why must you always ignore me?" He grabbed my hair and I cried out as he yanked me close. I could see the crack in his one tooth, his face weathered and hard. His eyes were wet orbs of fury, and he spat in disgust. I could smell the booze on his lips (how he got away with it at work was beyond me). I quivered and closed my eyes, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. _It'll be over soon._ I told myself over and over. "If it wasn't your Aunt's last wish that I take care of you, you'd be out on the street again begging for scraps." He whispered roughly in my ear, then shoved me against the door. My shoulder screamed as it crushed into the glass, and I gritted my teeth, hair falling to hide my welling eyes. "Get out of my sight. Don't bother coming home tonight. A little reminder of what you should be grateful for."

I pressed myself against the door handle and burst out of the car at a run.

**Later**

I had immersed myself in the hot blooded, head pounding organ of the city – the mob. Allowing myself to drift like an empty bottle in an open ocean, dragged through the streets by the faceless hussle and bussle of New York's inhabitants. It was nice, to drown out the thoughts in my mind with the constant murmur of conversation and traffic, and to ease my aching body with the electric energy that flowed through the streets like plasma through the complex tubes of a science experiment.

I had stolen five wallets before I calmed down.

I stopped in Central Park to rest on the edge of the fountain, washing away the grime of the city by dipping my feet in the chilly water. My camouflage cargos were rolled up to my knees, my baggy white t-shirt half untucked from my belt, the collar was too large and hung loosely off my arm, exposing one shoulder. (My fashion sense consists with whatever I can snag the fastest, so normally I don't have time to coordinate outfits while avoiding security cameras and nosey employees). Once again I was without shoes (of which I consistently found myself losing in strange places), I sighed with relief.

I emptied my finds of their cash, then stopped. In one wallet a string of pictures, folded to fit, dropped to my lap. Four similar looking kids, three girls and a boy, smiled at a camera in front of a blue screen (the kind of cheap fabric you find at a Wal-Mart Photo Centre). The pictures were worn, as if the man took these out often, like a father who hadn't seen his children in a long time. Uncomfortable, I cast it away. Then, allowing my curiosity to get the better of me, I opened the other wallets. One contained a dozen shiny new business cards all labeled with the name 'Bill Parkinson' – the sign of a man excited for his new job. Another featured the student ID card of a student at the university, and a struggling one at that if the shabby leather was anything to go by.

Feeling awkward and slightly guilty, I returned the wallets to nearby mail boxes where the post would pick them up and deliver them to their proper addresses (keeping the money for myself, mind, I didn't feel _that_ guilty.) I was still on edge, I _needed _to lift something, and fast. But who did I know that _deserved _to be stolen from? Someone I wouldn't feel sorry for. Someone that would satisfy my thirst for. . .

A sharp-toothed grin spread evilly across my face, like a hyena catching scent of her prey. I knew _just _the person.

**Back to School**

I shuffled along, dragging my body carefully across the plaster tiles of the ceiling with my elbows, like a soldier crawling beneath barbed wire. The space was small, dusty and filled with spider webs, but I frequented it often enough to know my way around. No one else knew that if you stood on the back of the girl's toilet in the last stall on the first floor, you could reach a loose ceiling tile, or that by using the passages and ventilation system you could get almost anywhere in the entire school with ease (and in secret). I used this method more than once to access my private file in the principal's office (making a few corrections of my own), but this time I had a different plan.

Every student and teacher's address was kept on the school's computer system, but it was only accessible from the principal's computer (I know, he is _such _a control freak). Luckily, he was busy trying to clean up a conveniently timed stink bomb in the cafeteria (I think of _everything_), which gave me the perfect window of opportunity.

I shifted the tile above the principal's desk slowly and peeked my head out, letting my hair tumble down (It had gotten quite long, did I tell you I strongly dislike hairdressers? Something about cutting off bits of me make me feel unnerved. See? Just the thought of it makes me shiver.) I looked back and forth and, with the the coast clear, quietly hopped down. In true G.I Jane fashion, I crouched low and rolled behind the desk, checking left and right. Carefully, knowing that if I messed up once it would lock me out, I typed in the 'all-powerful dictator's' password (figured it out last semester, someone should tell him 1234 is _not _a secure code). Murmuring voices outside suggested that I would not be alone for long, and I felt sweat trickle down the back of my neck.

I scrolled down the list of names, my eyes moving back and forth as the digital text flew by. _F...F...F...Ah-ha! There you are Ms. Frost. _Smugly I was about to click to print the address when a sudden BANG! on the front door made me jump, accidentally bumping the keyboard with my wrist.

Voices rose above the din as I heard the sound of fumbling keys. "I swear, it was _her! _I don't need to prove anything, who else do we know that would plant a stink bomb _in _this week's chilli surprise?"

Feeling quite smug with myself (and not grieving the loss of chili surprise in the least), I realized I had run out of time. I quickly glanced at the screen and committed the address to memory. There would be time to pat myself on the back later.

A female voice, mousy and nervous, replied. "Well it was certainly a _surprise..." _she stuttered slowly, and then jumped and made a squeaking sound as he stamped his foot.

I hopped up onto the desk and reached for a solid piece of pipe in the ceiling. Straining, I heaved myself up. I heard the principal scoff at her statement and cursed as he dropped his keys. I could see the blurred image of him kneeling down to pick them up from behind the glass.

The secretary continued. "But you can't expel her without proof, the district's code clearly states that-"

"I know what it says, Darla! You're my secretary, not my lawyer. But there's _never_ proof. I'm telling you, that girl is crafty, she'll steal you blind while shaking your hand."

"I'm sure she's just a misunderstood-"

"Did I tell you about the _images _she left on my computer after getting into that fight with the Weinshouse kid? Every time I hit the enter key another would pop up! Do you _know _how often a person hits enter on their computer?"

"Maybe, if she had someone to _talk_ to..."

The door swung open just as I replaced the tile in the ceiling, eliminating all but a small, dusty crack of light in the crawl space.

"Pff, please. She drove our school psychiatrist to early retirement, the girl is a menace." Our principal, Mr. Hodgkins, sat down at his desk, looking exhausted. He was a well built man with a soft stomach and a large, flat nose. He was removing his sneakers (with orthopaedic insoles) when he paused as he looked at the skewed keyboard on his desk. I felt my heart leap to my throat and my pulse quicken, but he simply frowned and pushed it back into its proper position.

The secretary clutched her clipboard to her chest. She was pretty in an ordinary kind of way, with a narrow nose and almond-shaped, hazel eyes. Quietly, she said "I think there may be problems at home."

The principal sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Her father is a _cop_, Darla. A very generous cop who donates at every benefit dinner we throw. He practically funded the new swimming pool. Think twice before you accuse him of anything."

"But sir, all the teachers report frequent occasions with her showing up to class covered in bruises. I think-"

"Darla, she's a delinquent. She probably got them from participating in underground boxing or some other illegal activity . . . or at least," He sighed, "that's what the courts will say. Her uncle is a public figure and a gentleman, he opened up her home to her after her parents died despite her less than reputable _tendencies_, and kept her even after the tragedy with his wife. In the eyes of the law, he's a saint." He waved his hand dismissively, keeping his eyes fixated on his computer, as if looking at Darla made him feel guilty.

Darla looked as if she was going to say something else, but instead bowed her head. "Will that be all, sir?" I could see her fingers clench her clipboard through the crack in the ceiling. I suddenly decided I strongly liked Darla, and made a mental note to stop hiding fake mice in her desk drawers.

Mr. Hodgkins nodded. Pretending to look at something on his screen, he hesitated, then frustratedly called her name just before she walked out the door. "Like you said, you need _proof_." He tapped his fingers on the desk, awaiting her reply. It wasn't a rejection, but an invitation.

Eyes widening, Darla squeezed her lips together firmly and nodded, then departed with the sharp click-clack of her heels.

I tilted my head. _Maybe he's not such a bad principal after all. _Silently, I shuffled around and crawled for freedom, pushing their conversation to the back of my brain as I repeated the address I saw on screen in my mind. _Ms. Frost, today is the day you will regret crossing Sydney Pennypocket. _

Well, to be exact, my plan wouldn't hatch until _tonight. _But who really cares about the details?

I wandered for a bit to pass the time. Normally I would case a place for a few weeks before attempting a break in, but this would be all the sweeter if I could pull it off without any prior preparation _and _while she was home. Once I was in, I'd find the most valuable, precious object she owned (as long as it can fit in my pocket, of course) and take it like a shadow in the dark, unseen and unheard. THEN I'd blackmail her with it – insert maniacal evil laugh here – (It's proven more than once to be an excellent way to get straight A's in a subject). I snickered wickedly at my brilliant plan, rubbing my hands together like the evil genius I was and drawing incredulous looks from passerbys. (Humility, in my opinion, is not an admirable quality).

Well, I couldn't spend the whole day walking; bare feet can only survive so much. I stood in line for a hot dog while I contemplated who to visit today. It wasn't Tuesday, but I could go to the fisheries and help out Captain Marcus and his crew. It was always nice to listen to the old sailor's stories, even if it did mean having fish guts up to my elbows. I handed the man a fifty (that did not belong to me) and ignored his offer for change, instead busying myself with smothering my hotdog with every ingredient available. I could always find Mikal, though he'd probably be busy volunteering for the school play and I didn't fancy having to spend hours painting bits of cardboard for the set (of all my talents, art is not one of them, there - humility, are you happy?). I walked away from the stand, chilli-powdered-ketchuped-relished-mustard-dipped-sauerkraut-filled-pickled hotdog dripping down my arm. Jerry would certainly welcome company today, I could sit and read some of his uber-rare first editions of my favorite mangas. Though, I closed my eyes and smiled contently as I bit into the bun, filling my cheeks with the my condiment-brewed creation, he would probably rant at me about 'spirits' and 'stories' and what not. Not to mention probably try to sell me something.

I licked my fingers thoughtfully. I was leaving someone out.

Ah. Dorothy.

I met Dorothy one fateful evening when I tried to steal her purse. I say 'tried' because the beefy, bottle-red-headed drive-thru worker would have none of it. She caught me by the neck with her humongous, jiggly arms and lifted me clear over her head, tossing me into a nearby garbage bin (head first, classic). In a huff, she adjusted her mini skirt and stalked away, and that _would _have been the end of it. But then...

_Another _woman attempted to rob her (Dorothy just wasn't having a good day). Except this lady had thinning, white-blonde hair and a skeleton figure. Her cheek bones were hollow with hunger and desperation, and her lips were covered in the tell-tale scabs of the infected. She was jittery, and held her gun all wrong, but her voice was crazy, the kind of crazy you didn't mess with. So, certain the lady was about to shoot Dorothy (if only accidentally from the way her hands kept shaking), I disarmed her by throwing a garbage can lid at her like a frisbee (Captain America style, booyah). Yep, I moonlight as a superhero.

And out of mutual respect, a friendship was born.

The sun set in New York with a slow, lazy salute to the blue sky, changing it into a soft, sleepy orange color. Pigeons preened their young, returning to their nests, and the night-life bloomed like a noxious cloud of vapor, infecting everything with its addictive need to party.

On a quiet end of the city, where the garbage men frequently forgot to visit, I waited for Dorothy. I'm sure I mentioned this, but there's a reason Dorothy walks around in mini-skirts and hangs around street corners. Not the most noble of reasons, but a woman needs to make a living, and I wasn't exactly the type of person to judge. I kept my arms crossed, keeping the car she had disappeared into within my peripheral vision. The radio was turned up to block out any noise, and had fallen onto a newscast about an elusive criminal named Kenny Del Something. I was only half listening.

Occasionally I would visit Dorothy during her second job and act as a body guard. Not that my scrawny arms were favorable for beating up baddies, but many a lady of the night had heard of frightening tales of those who are too careless and instead of getting paid, vanish. A second set of eyes and a witness at the ready to call for help was welcome everywhere.

I was just explaining to a creepy old man in a black sedan that I was _not _a participant and to find another lady on the block, no matter how much he offered me, when Dorothy walked towards us. She was adjusting her makeup in a small, compact pocket mirror and fixing the bramble of curls on her head. I ushered the old man away and hurried over to meet her.

"You know you're not supposed to stand so close." She said, her smoker's voice box droning the usual, hummingbird buzzing tone. I couldn't tell, because of the way her voice was digitized, but I sometimes heard a touch of a Russian accent when she tried to pronounce her w's.

"How am I supposed to make sure nothing _funny _happens if I'm a mile away?" I exclaimed, abashed.

"You're stealing my business, none of the men will approach me with a pretty flower like you to compare to." She flicked open a lighter and held a thin, feminine cigarette to her lips and inhaled, sighing with pleasure, then waved her hand airily. "This isn't the place for innocent little girls."

I crossed my arms in a huff. "If they think I'm pretty then they really _must _be lonely. Besides, s_omeone _has to help out. Another woman was found in an alley just a few blocks away from here." I grimaced. "It wasn't pretty. You really should work in twos or threes. Do you _want _to end up on the six o'clock news?"

Her voice box made a squeaky, wheezing sound as she laughed. "You're sweet, kid. But you should stick to your own tricks, not 'pulling tricks'. That sleight of hand of yours is quite the talent. If everyone of us could do what you do, no one would ever go hungry."

"Thank you, but I think I'll keep visiting. I consider it a part of my community service."

She patted me fondly on the shoulder, then dropped her cigarette on the ground and crushed it with her stiletto. "Are you coming over for the holidays this year? Benjamin can't stop talking about you. He missed you on Easter." She eyed me up and down. Whenever Dorothy looked at me like that, I always felt uncomfortable. Like the was judging my reaction as carefully as a poker player.

"Maybe, the school is participating in the ridiculous _parade _thing and Mikal asked me to help out. I have no idea how long it'll take, but even though it's months away they're already working on this enormous float. A Candyland theme or something." I shrugged.

She nodded, and blew a ring of smoke, it wobbled, then dissipated into the ether. "I never did get to thank you, for the gifts you brought last year."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said innocently.

"Hmm, if I recall correctly, Benny woke up that morning to find a gigantic pile of presents under the tree. Somehow, every single thing he asked for on his wish list to Santa _mysteriously _appeared."

"Are you trying to imply that it wasn't _Santa _who left those presents?" I asked, my mouth open in mock horror. "Really, Dorothy, everyone _knows_ Santa exists." My mouth curved into a slow grin. "He liked the remote helicopter then?"

"He still terrorizes the neighbor's cat with it."

I laughed. Benjamin was a cute kid, the kind who you always picture with a gap in his teeth and a messy hair cut. Last time I saw him he was dragging his blanket around and sucking his thumb. "Sorry about Easter. I was busy with . . . homework." (I had actually spent the night in a jail cell, don't ask, let's just say too much chocolate gets me a _bit _hyper). "How old is he now?"

"Four." She tilted her head and brushed a strand of looping, curled hair from my face (the humidity, it ruins my hair every time). "Where did you get the bruise?"

I swiped her hand away nonchalantly. "Freak cycling accident."

"You don't own a bike."

"Who said _I _was the one riding the bike?" I shrunk beneath her disapproving raised eyebrow, and quickly changed the subject. "Hey Dorothy, think you can survive without me for a bit? I have an . . . after school program to go to."

She sighed, her voice box trilling with static fuzz. "Yes, go. But don't get into too much trouble with your 'after school program'." She gripped my arm tightly with warmth, and I turned, whistling, for the subway. "And Sydney," she called after me, "if you ever need someone to teach your Uncle a lesson, just say the word. I know some people who would be happy to show him exactly how lucky he is to have you."

I didn't look back, waving my hand behind me to show I heard.

Her shoulder's relaxed, and as another car pulled up, Dorothy adjusted her fur shawl and strutted over. Back to work.

Riding the metro for free is a lot easier than the movies would have you believe. First things first, you _have _to use a station where the barriers are only at waist height (you know, the kind that everyone's crotch has rubbed up against). Anything more secure and you might as well walk. Most of the employees don't care enough to stop you if you hop over the metal bar (they don't get paid _nearly _enough for that). Usually they're too busy crosswording to notice, and if they do, they pretend to be busy sipping their coffee in mute indifference. Way too much bureaucratic process, and who has the time or the calories to spare to chase a fleet-of-foot delinquent girl through the subway system of New York? Unfortunately, there is a second breed of transit security guard, and I just so happened to run into him today.

I loitered by a news stand, pretending to read a celebrity gossip magazine. Behind me towered walls of gum, chocolate bars, china-made 'I 3 New York' t-shirts and plastic Liberty statues that lit up when you pulled on her torch. Above the edges of the paper my eyes flicked back and forth, analyzing my situation. My feet had long been turned into slippery, greasy accident-waiting-to-happen machines, so I was trying to inconspicuously lift a pair of puke-pink crocs from behind a pillar of post cards the man had for sail. As I did that, I focused on the playing field. My opponent? A young, hair thinning first-day-on-the-job-aspires-to-be-a-cop guy with perfectly shined shoes and a trigger-happy hand hovering over his baton. So far he hadn't noticed me, and I wasn't planning on waiting until he put me on his 'suspicious characters' list. Gathering my breath as I judged the crowd to be at its thickest, I slid my feet into the pink crocs just as the news stand owner noticed, and, ignoring his shouts of outrage, dashed for the barrier.

I ducked and twirled around the crowd. I launched myself into the air, vaulting over the metal ticket booth that would make a mother-frog proud. The security guard was on me in an instant, barging past citizens and shouting things like 'STOP THAT GIRL! No, not THAT girl, the one in the pink crocs!' while waving his baton in the air madly. Rather than bothering with the escalator, I hopped onto the rail and slid down, yelping with half-fright, half-excitement and rolled onto the platform.

Now, for your final lesson, young grasshopper. The MOST important thing to remember when bypassing the ticket booth is _timing_. Timing is everything. Get there too early or too late, and you're left waiting for security to catch up with no where to go, at their mercy. But, if you have perfect timing (like me, obviously), then you should arrive on the platform just as the train is about to leave. And so I did. Dodging a silver-painted street performer and a baby-stroller, I slipped into the train car just as the doors snapped shut behind me. Cramped from the sardine-packed train, but victorious, I couldn't resist squeezing myself around and waving 'ta-ta' to the purple faced security official as the train slowly gained speed, pulling away from the station.

I sighed contently and shuffled past the suffocating bodies to the back of the car. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the sliding door window, watching the track grow longer behind us and disappear into elongated darkness. Rectangular white lamps zipped by, illuminating the damp tunnel walls as if the train was leaving behind faint wisps of bio-luminescence, like the tail of a racing firefly. I closed my eyes and welcomed the cool darkness, feeling the rumbling rhythm of the train vibrate through the soles of my crocs and listening to the lucid, quiet breathing of the passengers. I felt myself drift...

_The rocking of the train morphed into the rocking of an ambulance, the inhales and exhales into the beeping of medical equipment, and the faded, orange imprints of the spot lights inside my shut eyelids into the flash of spinning sirens. A paramedic was whispering calming questions in my ear; asking my favorite color, my favorite animal, my favorite toy. A big hand brushed my cheek with a warm, wet cloth, wiping the skin clear and flooding the fabric with red. Blood, but not my blood. I sat, eyes wide and unblinking, on the edge of the gurney. My body shook uncontrollably, as if my bones were a village and my heart a never-ceasing earthquake. I didn't answer the man in white's questions, I did not see him, I saw only red. _

_It coated my clothing, my skin, my lips, even my eyelashes. It would take days to dig out the red from the grooves beneath my fingers and toes, and even longer to eliminate the crimson sheen from my hair. It was a very long time before I stopped seeing the man's red eyes in every shadow, every mirror. Watching over my shoulder with excited, sadistic glee. Ushering me to look, to feel, to immerse myself in my new, victimizing reality. Longer still until I stopped waking up screaming. A part of me sealed the nightmares away, forbidding the red room and the red eyes from following. But the laughter, the deep baritone voice that begins with a subtle chuckle, then a giddy cackle, and finally rising from the chest to burst forth as an insane, maniacal laugh. . ._

_That, still haunted me._

The metro screeched to a halt. I opened my eyes with a start, flooding my memory with banishing, artificial light. I hurried up and out, welcoming the cold, fresh kiss of a breeze on my nose after the crushing weight of the dead, underground air. Striding forward, I took bearing of my surroundings.

Posh.

Posh is the most accurate way to describe the neighborhood. Very, _very _posh. Trimmed hedges lined perfectly cut lawns, the leaves drifting in the wind like miniature green shoes on a ballerina's feet. Towering, Victorian-style lampposts cast comforting golden glows, drawing in moths and mosquitoes to their tantalizing light. Not a hint of litter left on the street, and everything smelled like rosebushes and new paint. The place _reeked_ of money. Fancy cars, expensive bicycles left carelessly in driveways, tacky lawn ornaments (that _stared _at you with creepy, resin eyes, mental note, I _hate _lawn ornaments) and gated communities – each with bigger, more lavish houses than the last.

I was practically drooling.

I could hit a fraction of these houses and be set for months! How could they leave expensive toys lying around so easily, windows unlatched, without a worry in the world? How had they not been robbed blind by someone like me yet? It didn't take long to discover the answer. Each neighborhood was patrolled by a nightly 'neighborhood watch' (if you will). Featuring a slow wheeling cruiser and a set of extremely unfriendly-looking rottweilers. Each house had some sort of security system rigged, only visible through the faintest red tinge of a trip-laser or the sweeping motion of a camera. Imagine the highest security prison – guards, fences, spotlights the works. . . this was like that except with a Desperate Housewives of Manhattan twist.

And I wanted to break _in. _

But, knowing me, as I'm sure you do, I am not one to hang my head in defeat and saunter home. No, there would be no surrender from me. This place was just a hard candy, and I was the hammer ready to crack it. So, with all the sneakiness I possessed (let's say it's a grade above Swiper from Dora the Explorer) I surveyed the perimeter, keeping to the shadowed walls and bushes. The house I needed to enter was a red-doored, white paneled, swinging tire in the front yard FORTRESS. How Ms. Frost could afford this mansion was beyond me. Maybe she won the lottery, or maybe she inexplicably inherited a lofty sum after the mysterious demise of a rich uncle (a far more likely scenario in my opinion, cold-blooded murder matched her personality.)

I perched on top of the fence post with the predator gaze of a barn owl. I think I nailed the camera patterns, and if I trusted my eyes, knew where the trip beams were. The security patrol (and his poodles from hell) had gone to take a leak. If I was going to do this, now was the time. Taking a deep breath, I leaped from the fence and landed in the backyard. I pressed myself against the wall of a two-story children's play-set (I didn't know she was capable of producing offspring, and silently shied at the thought of mini Ms. Frosts running around, handing out F's.) Checking that the coast was clear, I slid down the buttercup-yellow slide, hopped over the sandbox and vanished in a rosebush (might I add OW). Humming to the 007 theme, I ducked beneath the traitorous gaze of the security camera and started to climb onto a white-picket awning. The painted wood criss-crossed over the brick, creating a checkered pattern (as if the house had been clothed in a lumberjack shirt). I heaved myself up onto the roof using the rain-gutter, pausing as the metal grated and a sharp squeak rose into the night air. I waited until I was certain no dogs were slathering at my heels, then continued onto the roof. I crawled across the sandpaper shingles, padding with my palms and knees for grip.

Luck prevailed the evening, for I found my way inside, just as I thought I would. What was the one window in the house everyone forgot to lock? Ha. The skylight.

I lifted open the latch and peeked inside. I could see nothing but darkness. I leaned a little further inside. Still nothing. Hmmm. I should have brought a torch. Just a little _further..._AH!

I tumbled head over heels into empty space – swallowed whole by the darkness. I flung my arms out to protect my face and braced myself for an ungraceful entrance into Ms. Frost's evil lair. "OOMF!" I landed on something soft and bouncy, cushioning my fall. Despite no broken bones, I couldn't help feeling something was terribly amiss. Except...that wasn't me who said 'oomf'. _Uh...oh..._Suddenly, a flurry of movement and fabric tangled around me as a barely visible figure instigated an impromptu wrestling match. During the ruckus I caught dim glimpses of a desk – covered in textbooks, dismantled gadgets and star trek figurines, an old tube tv (this dinosaur still had _dials_), various awards hanging in polished glass frames and posters of comic book characters (albeit of the sexier variety). While I was compiling this generous and detailed list for your benefit, I was thoroughly engaged in a one-on-one battle with a person clearly bigger and stronger than myself. Wily, graceful and brilliant as I am, physical upper body strength continues to elude me as, sadly, most of my gender can relate. The person who tackled me appeared to be male if the baritone to his shouting was anything to go by (or his bad breath), which sounded oddly familiar...Regardless, loathe as I am to admit, he bested me without much effort. He had me pinned to what I am now aware is a bed, using only a single large hand to bind my wrists and straddled my waist to keep me from running away. With the other he grappled for a weapon to defend himself with. Realizing my precious hide could soon be in mortal peril, I kicked behind him, trying to squirm free. A hole in my croc caught on a lamp and knocked it to the floor. With a static sputter it flickered to life and for a brief moment the room was illuminated to me. Keeping me at bay with enough force to rival _robocop_ was a very familiar looking kid from math class, complete with dark skin, wide eyes and lanky features. This particular friend of mine was currently posed with a baseball bat in hand, holding it like a caveman would a javelin, prepped to attack. An extremely confused expression crossed my face as I said incredulously "Mikal?" But, the motion had already been established and before he could stop himself, the front of the bat struck me on the forehead with a hollow THUNK. Seconds before the world blackened into a cloudy abyss, I thought with a mental groan – _Wrong house..._

The world spun back into focus, and I moaned with renewed vigor for my hurt pride and my hurt head. The principal's office returned to my thoughts - The computer screen must have jumped when my wrist hit the keyboard, and instead of committing my punishment-deserving teacher's address to memory, I must have read a student's file. Mikal's, specifically. Which is a terrible coincidence if you ask me, but pah, I am not one to question the universe's sense of humor. Mikal was holding an icepack to my forehead with a concerned and embarrassed look on his face. With effort, I managed to upright myself. I glanced at him dryly. "You're strong for a nerd."

"That's all you can say?" He exclaimed, throwing open his dresser (he was only wearing a pair of Gameboy printed boxers). "You break into my house, attack me, and that's ALL?" He struggled to yank on a leg of his jeans. "I nearly killed you!" He was steaming now, stomping around yelling about delinquents vixens and how he never should have gotten involved with an idiot like me bla bla bla, all the while hunting for a clean shirt. I couldn't help giggling (he's so cute when he's angry), which only made him yell louder. To be honest, I think he was just relieved I was alright.

"I wasn't trying to break into _your _house." I mumbled, feeling a bit sheepish beneath his scolding. And when he demanded I tell him where I had intended to commit this 'crime' (matter of perspective), I was forced to explain my master plan for Frosty the Snow Witch and winced as his verbal jabbing altered into one about the redundancy of revenge and his take on the philosophical morality of the situation. When he exhausted that topic, he switched back to my idiocy, and described how I _should _have broken in like any sensible burglar might of, instead of leaping into an unknown and _occupied _bedroom (because he's the all knowing wizard of the world, isn't he?). He continued reciting the proper method of committing a B and E for a while, and I simply sat and watched him pace and rant, enjoying listening to his voice. If I let him, Mikal could go on for hours. He loved to talk, and with a well placed word here or there, I managed to steer his anger into a thoughtful, anecdotal historic rendition on the history and evolution of worldwide master heists.

Thoroughly calmed down, Mikal sat in a huff next to me, extended his long fingers over his bent knees. "You did that thing you do." He said.

"What thing?"

"That thing that causes others to worry about your safety."

"Sorry."

"Are you going to do it again?"

"Probably."

He was silent for a moment, thinking. "I haven't gotten a minute of peace since meeting you, Sydney."

"No, I suppose you haven't." I hugged myself and looked down at my feet. "Are you going to stop being my friend?" I asked quietly.

He looked at me sharply, but I wouldn't meet his eyes. Under his investigative stare I felt my skin redden. Sometimes, Mikal was wonderfully open and straightforward, but when he wanted to he managed to hide his thoughts behind a diamond-hard shield. That contemplative look made more than a few people uncomfortable, not because they resented being judged, but because most wanted to please him. Mikal was immensely popular at school, ever since pummeling Weinshouse (so hard he turned into a 2D drawing, BOOM). He'd been elected into six clubs, received tub-loads of invites to Prom (It's a YEAR away!) and had been approached by half the girls at school (most of which I deem unfit for Mikal, sniff). Now his own legend, Mikal had soared into fandom.

"Now," he said softly, wrapping his arm comfortingly around my shoulder and shaking me, making me feel grateful for the sudden surge of support, "say that again and I'll put you on art duty for the play for the next _month_."

I screwed my face up into a scowl, hiding how pleased I was. I crossed my arms and stuck my chin out in the air. "I don't see what you were so upset about anyways, most guys would be thrilled to have an angel like me fall out of the sky right on top of them."

"I wouldn't call you an _angel_..."

"What?" I feigned mock offense. "I'm so angelic I use a halo as a frisbee."

"Well, don't make a habit of falling on guys, ok?"

"Oh? Would you be _jealous_ if I broke into another man's home?"

"You wish." He said with an amused air.

I grabbed the pillow behind me and smacked him with it, and he clutched his chest, changing his face into an expression of horror and stiffened. He toppled over onto the ground like a dead man.

"Woops, guess I don't know my own strength."

We laughed.

There are rare moments in my day when the urge to steal escapes me. Most of those moments are with Mikal. For whatever reason, when I'm with him I don't brood on anything else, not my Uncle, not the worry that I might get sent to jail forever, not the insatiable need to rob everyone and everything blind. My goal lessened from the destination of standing atop a mountain of shiny objects with a crown on my head and a scepter in my hand, laughing at the rest of the world, to simply being content with the 'now'. Is it cheesy? Yes. But I like cheese. So we chatted for a while, relaxed, getting to know each other better, and I all but forgot about Ms. Frost. I stalled, wanting our time together to last, and convinced him that I could best him at any video game of his choosing (much to his shock and dismay, I can). After we exhausted that, he showed me his comic books and his video projects, and finally we watched a really old movie. The black and white kind with the oh-so-dramatic-love-and-crime-twist. I sat across the room from Mikal, leaning my back against the wall on top of the bed. Mikal was a perfect gentleman, and insisted he sit on his desk chair, mentioning something about how it wouldn't be proper. Now it was very late (or early, I couldn't tell).

The hours stretched and I felt myself drifting again, my eyes fluttered, making the white light of the television blink. My thoughts began to float from one topic to another – I was warm, this movie was too long, Mikal smelled nice...Mikal...

_The buzz of the TV morphed into the buzz of a fly, beating itself repeatedly against the glass of a window. I watched it from the corner of my eye, wondering why it abused itself so violently. I sat in a colossal-sized chair in a small room. The carpet was a playful color of red and yellow squares, the furniture bright green, the walls sky blue. Mobiles spun dizzyingly from the ceiling, toys lay strewn about the floor like dead men on a battlefield. A light, sickeningly cheerful rendition of 'the ants go marching' played from a small cassette in the corner. I wouldn't have minded the room so much if it wasn't for the Walrus that sat in front of me. "Come now, Sydney. Surely you want to talk to me. I'm not going to hurt you." Said the Walrus, wriggling his mustache and adjusting his wide, purple tie. He was so big he spilled out over the sides of his chair, and had to squeeze in order to stand. He continued to try to talk to me for several minutes, but to no avail. I did not utter a sound, instead I focused on the little fly, wishing that, somehow, it would develop super-fly strength and break through to the beyond. I could understand the fly, I didn't like the tiny room either – the Walrus kept farting and pretending he didn't. _

_After so long the Walrus handed me the only good part about our sessions; a piece of chocolate. I devoured it in an instant, hopped from my chair and exited the room, keeping my eyes on my feet. I walked as if there was no floor, as if my body was made of helium and I could fly through the day, welcoming the surrounding blurry mist. Nothing felt real anymore. I could hear the Walrus from the waiting room gruffly telling my social worker I would need increased sessions, that I was making no progress. He then said, in the kind of low voice adults use when they do not want to be overheard, that I should be watched. He said I laughed at horror movies, especially the scenes of gore he tried to shock me with, that I made no connection with other children my age, that when I wasn't a silent ghost I was a wild animal, preferring the company of pigeons and dogs to humans. I could be dangerous. He wanted her to warn the foster family I was with, and then his voice returned to normal and he asked her if she had any luck with contacting my extended family. She said no, that my uncle and aunt were backpacking in Napal for their vacation, that they had no way of reaching them, they didn't even know about the deaths yet...I stopped listening. I did not know my aunt or uncle very well. I'm sure I'd met them, but I was too little to remember even what they looked like. Brief flashes of my aunt's strong, warm hug and a pat on my head from a man who looked similar to my father, maybe the occasional present that arrived late through the mail, but they disappeared as soon as they came. I had a sneaking suspicion we weren't very close. Another kid in the waiting room started to cry. I ignored him. 'Babies'. I thought with disdain. I did not like being so small, not when I was dwarfed by the rest of the world. I could not fend for myself yet, I could not speak for myself. I wished I would grow up faster. I wish...I closed my eyes. _

"Sydney," a gentle but urgent voice whispered in my ear, "wake up."

Grunting in a very unladylike fashion, I forced myself awake. Mikal was leaning over me, shaking my shoulder. "You can't sleep here." He said calmly. "You have to go home."

"Uncle said I can't come home until morning." I mumbled, half asleep. When I realized what I said, I shot up, nearly smacking my already dented head into Mikal's. I tried to stand, but he placed both hands on my shoulders and forced me back down.

I avoided his gaze, feeling guilty. "It's nothing! Forget I said it."

At first I was certain Mikal was going to press me for details, which I dreaded - I was too tired for a raw grilling. Instead he searched my eyes for a moment, sighed and returned to his desk chair. He suddenly looked exhausted. "What am I going to do with you?" He frowned, thinking.

"It's my own fault." I muttered. "Uncle will get over it."

"That is _not _how you parent a child."

"He's just not...used to me."

Mikal looked at me, and his eyes traced the coloring bruise on my shoulder. I stiffened, but after a moment he averted his gaze. I sighed inwardly with relief. Having people like Darla or Dorothy voice concerns and pity for me was one thing I could handle, but I valued Mikal's opinion above all else. I wasn't sure why. (More corny mumbo jumbo, and I'm not about to pursue this introspective train of thought any further for your entertainment, I'm not a therapist). _Would he think less of me if he found out?_ I shivered from the sudden chill in the room. Mikal could ruin everything. He'd call the police, and then Uncle would find out. Who knows what Uncle would do to him? Or worse. I would be put back in foster care. Even Uncle was better than that. "Look, I can go, I'll just-"

"No." Mikal said sharply, seeming to arrive at a decision. He stood up and quickly exited the room before I could protest. I waited, and almost half considered sneaking back out through the skylight when he reemerged, carrying a sleeping bag beneath his arm. "You take the bed, I'll sleep on the floor."

He pointed his directions out, defining his orders with an 'I command thee' air. Knowing there was no arguing with him when he thought he was being chivalrous, I silently lied back down. I peeked from the corner of my eyes and watched Mikal lay out his bed. He was humming a peaceful tune, and seemed in a bright mood. I wondered why. All I had done was fall on him and intrude on his natural hospitality. Pondering this, I shut my eyes and entered a land of dreams; where I ran from a thirty-foot tall snowman that vaguely resembled Ms. Frost, a battalion of police officers armed with squirt guns that fired fiery streams of chilly surprise, and four-legged whiskey bottles that barked at me. All the while a harsh, cruel bout of insane, bone-numbing laughter followed me. I sweated in my sleep, my face contorted from stress. _What is _he _doing in my dream?_

**Mikal's POV**

A few yards away, Mikal forced himself to cast aside any ungentlemanly thoughts and focus on sleeping. The floor was rough and uncomfortable, and his feet stuck out from beneath the sleeping bag, but he didn't mind. _Sydney _was here, in hisroom, in his _bed_. It was worth waking up with back pain just to spend time with her. It was true what he said, he hadn't gotten any peace since meeting her, and if anything, it only made her grow on him more. Life was exciting with her around, and he reveled getting to know her better.

Still.

Where did she keep injuring herself? Not that it surprised him, not with the activities she kept herself busy with. For one thing, she was very good at climbing, and had no fear of heights (the first of several incidents that lead him to believe this involved her attempting to tightrope walk across the school's cable line), and spent much of her spare time teepeeing various government statues, secretly leaving offensive post-its in the secretaries' binders and stealing food from the teachers' lounge. There was even one fiasco with the city's zoo, he didn't have proof, but there were reports of a Sydney-shaped girl racing a zebra through downtown. She was smart, but was terrible at tests - if the amount of times he'd caught her cheating off his answers indicated anything.

He let these troubled thoughts mull about in his brain, trying to decipher them. She skillfully avoided the subject of her family, and Mikal didn't want to be rude and pry, but he was growing concerned. He'd known her for a few months now and hadn't heard her talk about them once. He knew she didn't have any parents and lived with her uncle, and that he worked as a police officer, but that was it. His jaw tensed as he looked over at her, still able to see the shadow of a nasty looking bruise warped across her shoulder. _This uncle of hers could pose a problem._ He closed his eyes. _I'll have to have a talk with him soon. _They hadn't known each other long enough yet for him to delve too deep into her personal life, especially against her wishes. He didn't want to risk their friendship. He would slow down and direct his efforts to acquiring more information before he acted rashly.

For now, Mikal was certain he knew more about her than any other person, but she was still such a mystery. He heard her mutter something about a 'stupid laugh' and glanced at her in the dark. He could smell her from here, dirt and asphalt and candy and rain. Her breathing was unsteady, as if she was troubled by nightmares. He felt the sudden urge to leap up and hug her, but managed to thrust it back into the recesses of his instincts. There would be time for that. He'd enjoy their friendship...for now. Content, he closed his eyes, sighing as he drifted off.

The next morning was filled with over-reactive shouts from Mikal's mother after discovering a girl in his bedroom, then experiencing an awkward apology before a silent, polite breakfast to which Sydney was introduced officially to the family – Mikal's bear of a mother who preached on and on about how everyone should appreciate their roots, specifically her own Kenyan heritage and how Mikal should wear his Kufi more often because he looks so handsome in it (to which Mikal rolled his eyes), his five year old brother Noah who made 'K-I-S-S-I-N-G in a tree' jokes and was nimble enough to avoid Mikal's subtle kicks under the table, and his father, a self-pronounced business owner and stated how proud he was that Mikal was going to run the family boxing gym (Sydney didn't let Mikal's quiet and noncommittal replies to these statements escape her notice). When the topic of conversation switched to Sydney, she made up an elaborate story and excused herself, promising to see Mikal at school.

The moment she left all eyes turned to Mikal, who quickly stated how it would be rude to make her walk home alone and excused himself as well. Both parents exchanged looks, and Mikal's mother muttered something about young love as she caught Noah by the collar and told him it was his turn to do the dishes.

Over the next few months Sydney would end up seeing a lot more of Mikal's family as their friendship grew and her urge to steal lessened, even if it was only by a little bit. Imagine them as a young duo exploring what it means to be in love. Lots of laughter, adventure and the occasional stolen kiss.

Alas, as with all happy moments in Sydney Pennypocket's life, it wasn't meant to last.

**An Exert from a Dusty Journal Hidden in a Pawn Shop**

_There are many realities where her story turned out differently, where she grew up with a relatively normal childhood and enjoyed a content, if not very exciting, existence in her unnamed French town. Or where she became one of Canada's first female hockey players to join the national team, or where she was born a ginger, or where she died. But all of those realities share little in common, aside from a name and a face. THIS Canadian girl from THIS world is who matters, and each horror witnessed, each challenge endured contributes to the unusual brightness of an unusual spark. She would face much danger and strife, and would carry on her shoulders a daily grief she barely remembers. Her broken bones only make her spirit stronger, and the shadows that stalk her at night mold her sense of justice. She will do what others can't, what they WON'T, because she's a survivor. Because she-_

RING RING.

Jerry folded his journal shut with a SNAP and swiftly tucked it into his vest pocket, clicking his pen. He looked up as the bell above his shop door jingled and brief rays of white light tumbled inside only to be snuffed out by the figure that had entered. A short, old man with a century-clashing fashion sense. The fabric of his leather jacket and pants squeaked as it rubbed together, the chains hanging from his pockets and neck clinked with movement and the spikes on his shoulders and boots reflected the glare of the buzzing florescent lights above. His wrinkles were creased with white makeup, his pale eyes hidden within a splash of black powder. His wispy hair was dyed neon orange and gelled into a triangle above his head. He stole forward with purposeful steps, clutching a cylindrical object in his gloved hand.

If Jerry was surprised to see him, he didn't show it. He smiled a greeting. "Welcome, Monk, to my humble abode. Here to buy or sell? I have a _very _nice selection of black nail polish and skull candy-holders, right up your alley AND, just for old times sake, FIFTY percent off!" He slapped his desk enthusiastically.

The Monk, keeping his eyes square on Jerry, threw down the object and spun it around.

Jerry's smile wavered. "What's this?"

"It's a problem. You're problem, to be specific."

Jerry regarded the object with cautious curiosity. "If you're not going to buy anything-"

The old man removed his hand, revealing a single homemade jar of jam. The light shone through the viscous, magenta-colored liquid, making the trapped air pockets and seeds glitter like gemstones. A creamy bow was wrapped around the surface, tied with almost obsessive neatness. Jerry stared at it for a moment, then took off his hat to run his fingers through his tangled dreads, exhaling loudly. "It might not be him."

"There was an eyeball floating inside when I found it on my front doorstep this morning," Monk said bluntly.

Jerry made a face. "Charming."

Monk slammed his fist in the desk, making the bottles of ink, packs of gum, cigarette lighters and miniature voodoo dolls jump from the force. He leaned forward, glaring at Jerry. "Patricia reports sparks by the dozen are being snuffed out like candles in the wind – all from your district. Did you send EVERY capable traveler you had at your disposal to that psycho's home-world?"

"Well, when you put it like that..."

The monk slapped the desk again. "You monster! You KNEW the danger you put them in and you did it anyway!"

Jerry's shoulders slumped. "But Monk, it's worth it! You have no idea who this detective really is-"

"I do. We all do. That's why we stay away from that world." He spun on his heel, throwing his arms in the air. "Not to mention the _uproar_ you've caused with those damn Shinigami! You know how they feel about travelers in their territory."

Jerry blinked. "B-but then, if you know the power he's capable of, how can we let him-"

"L Lawliet's meant to die for a reason. It's better for all of us this way." Monk said sternly. "You know you can't control fate, not with something like this."

"The fates wouldn't create him with that power if they didn't want him to use it!" Jerry sputtered, leaning over the desk, motioning reason.

Monk's chest puffed up and his cheeks turned a deep shade of red. He pointed angrily at him. "Don't pretend to know what the fates would want, Gerald! It is not your place! Not for any of us! Let him die and let those poor girls rest in peace! This madness ends NOW!"

Jerry paused, then retracted. He straightened, adjusted his jacket and smoothed back his hair to reapply his hat. He pushed past Monk, only hesitating to look at the jar of jam with a pained expression before stealing himself and made for the door. He had one hand on the glass when Monk said quietly, "He's got the new girl. Sydney. She won't survive the night."

To Monk's surprise, Jerry grinned. The curve of his smile winked as he showed off a gold fang. "You're wrong, old friend."

Monk stared at him blandly, feeling years older than he was, and tired. "What makes you think that?"

Jerry stepped out into a blinding flash of light, his words echoing behind him with a deep chuckle "This one has a score to settle."

Monk sighed, then glanced at the ominous jar of jam on the desk. "I hope you're right, Gerald."

_End of Chapter 31_

LONG. I know it's an all original, but I PROMISE there will be more L and what not next chapter (at the very least more of our favorite jam loving serial killer). I felt it necessary to establish a background between Sydney and Mikal. ALSO, Jerry is beyond fun to write about. Special thanks to Elma Avalonia who decided to review EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER (round of applause please). And to everyone else – Thanks for all your support and suggestions and questions and just plain AWESOMENESS. Hopefully we can get the reviews past a thousand with this one. WOOT (I feel faint). So far we've got about just under 700 people who read this with each update, which is so amazing I might explode. I might not SEEM like a lot, but it is to me. I appreciate all of you guys. And I'm sorry if I don't reply to your reviews or PMs right away, I have a terrible procrastination habit (You can relate, right?)

Until next time,

~Satchelle


	32. Red Dream

What you've all been waiting for…

**Chapter 32**

**Sydney's Nightmare**

_A woman, hair knotted in sweaty ringlets with sparkling eyes, smiled down at me. White light surrounded her head. She was slightly chubby and had big, near elephantine ears, but she had a homely, familiar face. She wore the blue gown provided to her from the hospital staff and the weary lines on her forehead of someone who had just suffered through a long delivery. My tiny, pudgy fingers reached up to grab her nose, my gurgles echoed around me. She cupped my cheek with her hand, and I realized that she was crying, despite her smile. "I'm sorry," she mouthed as a trickle of blood danced down her forehead and curved around her brow, "I'm so sorry..." The white light exploded with red and her head arched back, she screamed silently._

_Mom?_

I opened my eyes with a gasp, a surge of bubbles streamed from my lips and I clutched my neck with my hands, vying for air. _A dream, this was supposed to be a dream!_

The liquid was warm and thick and bubbled into my lungs like a suffocating red slug. The taste of salt and iron graced my lips and gums as I struggled to fight for the surface. I spun back and forth in the bloody water, contorting my body in twists and convulsions as I yanked away from the bony claws that held my ankles, my arms, my throat. They dragged me deeper, their screams gargling in my ears with screeches of triumph. Their bodies piled on top of me, their weight pushing me into crushing blackness. I scrambled, kicking one in the face and grabbing the frayed clothing of another, pulling myself up and up. Hollow eyes, gaunt and furious, exploded into view in the mushrooming clouds of crimson. I tried not to focus, ignoring their angry, echoing roars that turned into frightened moans as they started to sink. I felt as if I was in the centre of a cage of bodies, their limbs crisscrossing over the winking light that rippled above like bars in a prison blocking out the sunshine. I smashed my heel into the jaw of one corpse that grabbed me, hearing the satisfying CRACK of snapped bone and swam for the surface with a jolt of adrenaline. I reached for the sunlight, willing myself to push just a little bit further-

A finger fish-hooked my lip and I made the mistake of retching, instigating a series of chain-coughs that ended with me swallowing more deadly water than expelling it. My lungs seized, constricting painfully into useless, wrinkled bags of flesh.

_Air. I need Air._

They say drowning is painless, but that had to be a lie. My lungs felt as if I had lied down in the middle of the road and allowed a steamroller to drive over my body. They screamed for oxygen, pushing back all other instincts. With a final kick I felt the water drip away, but I still couldn't breathe. The bodies were so compact that they formed a hill-like barrier, like a mountainous trapdoor of writhing limbs. I wriggled between the bodies. My vision tunnelled as I climbed further and further into the corpse-ridden mass, my muscles weakened. My wet palms padding against damp decaying skin made me slip more than once, sliding beneath them, threatening to bring me back to the water. I thought I saw a ray of golden light behind a pile of skulls above me, but I blamed that on a lack of oxygen. I was too weak to continue. A dull, hollow realization cut through me.

I would die here.

I shut my eyes and curled up protectively into a ball. Exhaustion dripped through my veins, a morphine that dulled my senses and slowed my heart. _I'm so tired..._

**A Tokyo Hotel Room**

Like a ghost, Sydney stood silently by the open window of the den. Her hair drifted gently in the breeze, her body was outlined in the liquid metallic glow of moonbeams. Her thin nightgown was as pale as her skin, like milk, and did little to hide the subtle outline of her blue undergarments. Her eyes were wide, dark orbs and her eyelids drooped as she stared into the distance.

L approached her, treading quietly. His bare feet made no sound on the soft carpet. Once at a safe distance he leaned forward, bending his knees to put himself directly in her line of sight. His body was relaxed and his gaze serious but interested. His lips were parted, the bubbling sensation of curiosity floating just behind them. "What do you see?" He asked softly, not expecting an answer.

She turned rigidly, almost like clockwork, to walk down the long hallway. L placed his hands in his pockets, ready to follow when something caught his eye. He paused and the fluttering curtain blew apart to reveal a shadow standing on the corner of the adjacent rooftop, cast in darkness by the giant rising moon behind him. A single orange dot burned as the figure sucked on a cigarette followed by twisting wisps of smoke drifting through the air. He tipped his cowboy hat in a gentlemanly manor before turning to stroll away. A long western-stylized whistle rose through the night, offering the temptation of a challenge.

L watched until the figure disappeared completely before flipping open his phone. As he dialled Sydney stopped by his bedroom door, her fingers trailing alongside her aimlessly, brushing the smooth finish of the frame and the sleek metal knob before turning and continuing her walk in the darkness. "Watari, make arrangements for Sydney's supervision."

"_Is she still sleepwalking?" _Watari asked, his British accent trilling digitally.

"Yes, I've been observing her for over an hour and there has been no change. She is..." L froze, allowing her to pass within a hair's width of him towards the kitchen, she did not show any signs of noticing his existence. "...like a shell."

The phone crackled as Watari paused. _"...Sir?"_

L hung his head, clearing his throat. "Make sure whoever you contact knows not to wake her under any circumstances. It could be dangerous."

"_Where are you going, sir?"_

L's eyes flicked back to the window. "It appears I have been invited for a drink."

"_Of course. Very good, sir."_

**Sydney's Nightmare**

"_Duckie, you have to lean into it. Watch, I'll show you." A broad-shouldered man with a fuzzy beard and kind eyes skated a quick length around the pond before skidding to a stop, spraying the giggling little girl with ice chips._

_The girl clapped her hands together, hopping up and down. "My turn, papa!" She fixed her helmet and stumbled out onto the frozen water, teetering dangerously. Her chubby cheeks were red as apples and spurts of crystallized air fluffed past her lips as she huffed and puffed, struggling to keep up. "Look, papa! I'm doing it!" She laughed as the metal blades slid across the surface with ease and she glided, wind whipping her cropped hair behind her ears. She turned to see if her father was watching and slowed to a halt. The pond was deserted, and the sky had dimmed to a dull grey, there were no sounds but the rustling of dead branches from the wind. She looked around and spotted a hole in the ice. Hesitant, she skated towards it. Bubbles streamed to the surface of the green water, she knelt down, inspecting further. Suddenly a ring of red expanded, flooding the entire pond with its crimson tide. The little girl crawled backwards, but cracks expanded from the hole, like lightning bolts in the ice, aiming right for her. She screamed for her father as the ice exploded beneath her, encompassing her in a fountain of the red liquid before swallowing her whole. She held her breath and fought with stubby arms and legs, but her skates and snow suit weighed her down. The last thing she saw was a thin, shadowed man leaning over the hole in the ice, laughing. His eyes glowed red._

A sudden rush of adrenaline shocked me back into reality. _No. I won't let it end like this! _I tensed my fingers into claws and tore my way past the bodies savagely, eyes focused on that tiny beam of light above. The moaning grew louder, their movements more erratic. I kicked and bit and fought with every ounce of rage and might that remained in my body. _I'm Sydney Pennypocket. I'm a traveller. I'm the one who will save L Lawliet. I can't die. I WON'T die! _The light became brighter and with a final kick I burst through the surface. My hair whipped around in an arc as I arched my spine and thrust my head back, gasping. The moment of pure relief did not last long, in an instant I lost my hold on the slippery mass.

I tumbled down the hill of corpses head over heels, landing with a SPLOOSH on soft, wet dirt. I slid through the soil head first, finally coming to a slow and painful stop. For the next few minutes my existence was all about air. Sweet, blessed air that commanded my aching heart to keep beating, flooding my veins with oxygen and igniting the nerves in my brain with vibrant sparks. It felt like my skin was being stabbed with tiny, acid-tipped pins, like my lungs had been torn to shreds bit by bit like discarded pieces of paper and my head smashed repeatedly by a two-by-four. For a while I just convulsed, arching and curling my back with every shudder as I gasped for air. As my brain, inch by inch, began to turn back on images flashed through my mind, my eyes fluttered and rolled back in my head.

**Downtown Tokyo**

Aizawa hurried after Sydney's hollow shell, speaking quietly into his cellphone. "No, Matsuda, everything is _not _alright! The Krispy kid has gone nuts and I'm stuck as her babysitter! … Of course sleepwalking isn't normal behaviour – wait, I see you."

Aizawa waved his hand, beckoning a lost looking Matsuda over.

Meanwhile, Sydney's half-lidded, sleepwalking self was busy sniffing a lamppost. The market was, for the most part, empty. A few stragglers and tourists ambled through the street, moving from table to table, inspecting goods. The air was dark and damp with smog and smoke, the twang of a bum playing a broken shamisen floated through the night. Aizawa forced himself to ignore the back alley deals taking place under his nose. As a police officer, he normally wouldn't stand for it, but tonight he had more important things to worry about. Keeping Miss Krispy from strolling off a bridge, for example, was one of them.

Matsuda supported himself on his knees, breathing heavy. The young officer wasn't wearing his suit, just a green dress shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair was barely combed and there were enough dark bags under his eyes to rival L's. "I've been…huff, huff…looking…huff, huff…_everywhere _for you two. How did she get out of the hotel room?" He asked.

Aizawa snapped his cellphone shut and crossed his arms, glaring at a passing clique of adolescent boys in a '_stop staring at the girl in a nightgown like that' _kind of way. "She's crafty," he harrumphed.

"She's a zombie!"

"Well, _you_ try and restrain her without touching her! Watari said waking her up could cause her to panic and have a heart attack…Oh, great. I think she's trying to teach that puppy sign language. Sorry, ma'am! She's sleepwalking!" Aizawa slapped his hand across his face as the offended woman yanked her wiener dog away from the curious, tripping teenager.

"So, what can we do?" Matsuda asked.

"Nothing, just make sure she doesn't step out in front of a car—like that!" Aizawa leaped forward, waving his arms in apologies to the sudden breaking automobiles and honking horns as he guided his charge across the road.

Matsuda followed close behind, noting out of the side of his eye that Aizawa still hadn't shaved his face, was wearing the same suit from yesterday and the grumpy exhaustion that lingered behind his eyes. "You know, I can take it from here. I'm sure Eriko and Yumi are worried about you…"

"Eriko kicked me out."

"_WHAT?!" _Matsuda shouted loud enough for the crowd to pause and stare at them. Blushing, he cleared his throat. "I mean, oh, that's…too bad." He said in a slightly lowered voice, clapping his hand on Aizawa's shoulder. "I'm sure you'll work it out."

Aizawa didn't reply and Matsuda watched him with a worried expression.

Sydney meandered past a fluttering curtain, following her nose, into a Ramen shop. She stood, placing her hands on the counter, staring at the (slightly disturbed) cook without the slightest expression. The air was filled with the smell of cooked meat, so thick it made Matsuda's eyes water and his stomach growl. The kitchen was nothing more than a portable stove on wheels with some raised shelves, the roof made from simple thatched straw.

Both Aizawa and Matsuda took a seat on the stools in front of the counter. The owner glanced nervously from the girl to the two men, then gestured at her over his shoulder with a large spoon. "What's her problem?" He asked, his voice gritty.

"Nothing, ignore her. We'll have two bowls to go." Aizawa said sharply, and the cook shrugged, returning to stir his pot.

"So…" Matsuda said, trying to break the tension, "Ever wonder what Miss Ella said?" He asked, accepting a steaming plastic bowl of the oily water. He broke open the package of his chopsticks.

"What do you mean?" Aizawa strained his neck and shouted "Oi! You in the suspicious trench coat, stop trying to sell watches to the kid. Can't you tell she's sleepwalking?" Aizawa watched with justified satisfaction as the weedy looking man disappeared, leaving Sydney to her lonesome by a hanging net of garlic.

"You know, what she whispered to Ryuzaki the first day we met her. Whatever she said must have been really important for him to take her in like that."

Aizawa ignored the chopsticks offered to him and took out a plastic spoon from his pocket. "I don't know and I don't care," he said through a mouthful of noodles. "Why crazy genius detectives do what they do is none of my business. As for the kid, I'd say the only reason she's still around is because she knows something we don't, and Ryuzaki can't make her talk."

Matsuda stared into his bowl of ramen solemnly. "Do you think she really knows who Kira is?"

Aizawa shrugged. "If she does, she must have a damn good reason for not confessing." Aizawa quickly slurped up the last of his bowl, tossed the cook some change and grabbed his coat. "Either way," he trailed behind Sydney and started down the street, quickly followed by Matsuda who was still trying to negotiate a stubborn piece of fish into his chopsticks, "I owe her now," he said gravely.

"You heard her though," Matsuda had to stumble forward, avoiding other pedestrians and taking two steps for every single stride of Aizawa's, "She forgives you. She understood, you were just stressed! You don't have to do this. You should be with your family."

Aizawa stopped in his tracks, turned around and jabbed a calloused finger into Matsuda's chest. "Don't tell me what to do with my family. They'll be fine with or without me. I wronged that…_kid…_over there and I have to make it right. If I don't, then what kind of man am I?"

Matsuda didn't answer. He relaxed once Aizawa turned away to chase after Miss Ella to try and coax her away from a group of cyclists, but watched his fellow officer's tense back grow smaller with a sympathetic expression. _This investigation is ruining more than just criminals' lives. _He thought sadly. He took a deep breath. All he could do was follow.

**Sydney's Nightmare**

The first thing I did once the spasms stopped was crawl to a kneeling position, hold back my hair and emptied my stomach.

I stood up, rubbing my arms and curling my toes in the dirt, gathering my surroundings. The sea of bodies sloshed behind me, its red water foaming with each new wave that quietly splashed at my heels. In front of me was a massive expanse of dead earth, nothing green in sight for miles. In the distance a shadowy structure loomed. The horizon beyond the structure glowed a forbidding orange, like a forest fire without the smoke, and the air was steamy and thick, almost tropical, making my neck and back run with sweat. A trickle of the red water snaked around the piles and piles of towering corpses and bones. It was like an endless trash heap of cadavers. I tried to take a step forward to follow the stream then cringed as I heard a SNAP and a CRUNCH. I lifted my foot to inspect and brushed off the crumbling remains of someone's ribs from my sole. More than ever I wished I had shoes to wear, or clothing for that matter. I wasn't a modest person, but I would feel much better being covered in something a bit more comfortable than the red lingerie that was granted to me. It was soaked, itchy and embarrassing.

I saw a black, mangled tree in the distance with a trio of rotting corpses swinging from hangman's nooses. As distasteful as it was, it was the only landmark. I headed toward it.

After a few steps I heard a _whir whir…whir whir…_ sound fizzle several feet in front of me. Cautious, I paused, trying to pinpoint the sound's exact location. Warily, I watched as the blurry image of a man faded into existence, buzzing with static like the white noise on a poor radio connection. He appeared, slightly see through, like a crew member beamed down from the Star Ship Enterprise.

Jerry stood there with his hands folded behind his back, rolling self-consciously on the balls of his feet. _"__Now, don't be mad."_

"You!"

He held his hands out in front of him, as if to negotiate. _"Let's be reasonable, Sydney. No need to overreact."_

I stalked towards him, hands clenched. Rage bubbled like a geyser inside my chest, ready to explode. "You knew!" I shouted accusingly. "You knew _he _was here. You practically laid me out on his doorstep with a little bow and a bottle of champagne!"

"_No, that's not what I—"_

"And what about the others?"

Jerry fell silent for a moment. He clasped his hands in front of his waist. _"Ah," _His eyes shifted to me slowly, carefully, studying my reaction._ "So you know about that."_

The image of Thalia's crying face crashed into my mind's eye. Her frightened last words, _"Tell Jerry I just want to go home," _as she begged for mercy before the fire consumed her and burnt her flesh from her bones repeated over and over in my mind. _"Tell Jerry…"_ How many other girls had he brought to Death Note, promising adventure and romance? How many had I just seen burn in front of my very own eyes like marshmallows in a campfire? How many lost their sparks without him lifting so much as a finger to save them? How many had he _lied_ to?

"You sick bastard! You knew my parents' killer was in this universe all along and you never bothered to mention it?"

"_I-I have a VERY good reason for that if you'll just let me—"_

"He made me watch them _burn_!" I growled, teeth grinding together as the floating pocket of fury in my chest burst, detonating like dynamite. "This is ALL YOUR FAULT!" Like a jaguar leaping for her prey, I launched myself in the air, ready to tackle him to the earth and beat him to a bloody pulp. To my surprise, my hands flew straight through his body and I tumbled head over heels on the other side. I laid on my back, winded, staring up at the orange sky.

Jerry's image flickered for a moment, like a hologram, as he leaned over me. _"Sorry, kiddo. No such luck, I'm afraid. You'll have to hit me some other time."_

I scrambled to my feet, brushing away dirt and flicking away the guts that clung to my sweaty body. "What's going on?" I asked irritably as I picked a nasty piece of someone's intestine from between my cleavage.

"_I can't enter this world, Sydney. I've tried. It's a dead zone. Forbidden. Someone created this place especially for you and I don't have permission. This projection is the best I can do."_

"Is this place real?"

"_Yes and no. You remember when you 'died' in the hospital and visited the Nether?"_

I nodded slowly. How could I forget the desolate sandy landscape and the constant swirling wind fueled with the last breaths of the dead? If I recalled correctly Jerry treated the awful place like a mild vacation spot.

"_You visited the Nether with your subconscious when its connection to your form was at its weakest. Most often this happens when you sleep, or, in that particular case, when you flatlined. A lot of people who die and are revived think they've seen the afterlife, but most often their floating mind caught onto a transdimensional link and was transported for a few seconds to some other reality before returning. Unlike Death Note, or the planet you first visited where you met Scab, where your entire being was transported, this is more existential. Your spirit went one way and your body another." _

I felt as if my head was going to explode (let's just say I've always been at a low reading level, ok?). Scrunching my nose, I gestured around at the dead landscape. "So, in short, it's a dream."

"_Not really—"_

"I don't have time for your mystic mumbo jumbo," I said, cutting through his explanation like a machete in a rainforest, "Is it real or not?"

"_Yes." _Jerry said solemnly. _"__Your parents' killer created this place just for you. What happens in your mind will reflect on your physical body. Die here and you'll never wake up again."_

"I see. Kind of like Nightmare on Elm Street." I sat down and held my forehead in my hands, staring wide eyed at my curling toes as I tried to think. "Ok," I said, nodding to myself. "So, I've got a psycho killer with the power to create whole worlds and trap me in them trying to torture me mentally and/or physically so I'll give in and hand over my Spark to satisfy his sick, psycho pleasure. Piece of cake." I wiped my mouth, then looked at the flecks of blood on my hand. My thoughts swirled inside my head, spinning from one moment in my life to the next, all a domino effect from a single, dreadful night. I slowly closed my fingers, forming a fist. "Yes," I mumbled to myself, my mouth twitching, "this is perfect."

"_It is? Oh, I mean, of course it is! That's the spirit!" _Jerry said brightly, pleased things were finally going his way.

"First thing. I need something to wear."

Jerry snapped his fingers, disappeared for a moment and then reappeared. A small pile of clothing fizzed into existence by my side. His expression brightened as I held up the fabric to inspect. _"I may not be able to travel to this world. __But I do have some abilities."_

I stared at the clothes. There were a pair of faded jeans that looked to be made for an elephant and a shirt dyed with red, blue and white. When I held it up I realized it wasn't just any shirt, it was a genuine Montreal Canadien (That's how they spell it, don't ask me, I'm only French by birth) jersey with the number 13 printed on the back. I started yanking on the pants, hopping on one leg for balance. "All of time and space and you decide to bring me clothes that don't fit?" I asked.

"_It suits you," _Jerry shrugged. _"I brought them straight from the locker room, they might have a player forced to leave the arena in his boxers, but desperate t__i__mes call for desperate measures."_

"Yeah well," I pulled down the shirt over my head, rolling up the sleeves. It stretched down to my knees and was large enough to be mistaken for a dress, "the second thing I need is a weapon."

"_Do you have a preference? Assault rifle? Cross bow? Boomerang?" _

"No," I said, looking down at my new jersey fondly. "I have a better idea."

**Third Person POV**

Sydney told Jerry her idea and he disappeared again, leaving her a moment to herself. The vultures circling above dove to the beach of corpses, positioning their well-aimed talons to snatch up some extremely vicious, extremely large rats and lift them high in the air, only to drop them to their deaths again. The vultures did not eat the wildlife, and Sydney quickly realized from her observation that they were merely playing. She glared out into the ocean. _What a dreadful world this man has created for me._

Jerry returned seconds later, holding out the item she asked for. _"Is it to your liking?"_

Sydney reached and grasped the weapon in her hands, testing the weight of it. "It's flawless."

"_I had it signed too." _

Sydney surveyed her wooden hockey stick with admiration, rotating it in the air. It was heavy enough to bash a skull in, but light enough that it wouldn't slow her also happened to match her outfit, but that was just a bonus. She ran her finger along the swirling marker of the legendary Wayne Gretsky's signature.

"_You're going after him, aren't you?"_

Sydney kept her eyes on the signature.

"_I knew you would, from the moment I met you I knew you wouldn't give in like those other girls. You've got exactly what this universe needs, spunk." _Jerry said, and Sydney did not miss the sudden flare of excitement in his eyes.

"Jerry," She muttered, flipping the hockey stick around. "There is a third thing I need."

"_Name it, kiddo. I'm at your service. That's me. Helpful Jerry."_

"I want you to disappear."

Jerry faltered. _"W-what? But you need me!"_

"Did you think I forgot?" She asked, twisting the hockey stick above her head and slamming it down into the earth. "You are not who you say you are, Jerry. You lie, cheat, sneak around and I'm pretty sure are responsible for the deaths and suffering of a few hundred people. You think I can't smell a rat a mile away? I've suspected you've been up to something since day one. I may not know what you're using me for, Jerry, but I do know you're _using_ me."

Jerry seemed to deflate. _"I have a very good reason—"_

"Try me."

"_You have no idea what it's like!" _He threw his arms in the air. _"To watch fate __commit__ its boring plans for the universe over __and over again. To know everything you say or do was completely predesigned since before you were born. Even wild cards like you and me can barely escape its chains.__" _He glared off into the distance, watching the waves of the red ocean roll in._"__But I did it, I realized that it all was connected, like a road map with a single hub at its centre, destroy that hub and the roads change course," _Jerry's voice became eager again, _"__And what a perfect __hub__ it is! A world where you can see what time everyone is predestined to die as easily as you can read a digital clock.__ But even the Shinigami couldn't change this one man's timeline. No, it had to be you.__I figured out if we can __alter__ this one tiny event in this one, tiny universe then everything will be different! Fate won't control your or my decisions ever again.__"_

Sydney watched with a growing sense of foreboding that formed in her stomach like mold on bread. But Jerry wasn't done yet.

"_THAT'S why the detective must live. __Changing__ his timeline is the __only way__ to unravelling the blueprints of the universe.__ Crazy, I know, but fate always did have a strange sense of humour.__" _Jerry began pacing. _"You think you developed a liking for Death Note on your own? You have no idea the steps I've had to take to manipulate you into this spot. I even planted the idea in the author's mind, opening __him and his partner __up to the possibility so the manga would be written! I've been constructing this from the very beginning." _His face darkened. _"But no matter what I did I couldn't save him. None of the other girls I sent could either. Useless__ once BB came along and ruined everything__,__" _Sydney looked up sharply when he mentioned the name BB, wondering where she had heard that before. "_A__ll of them__ couldn't handle a little torture__, But you—" _He smiled down at her, suddenly calm, _"You were different. You're will __is__ stronger than theirs.__ I know you won'__t fail me.__"_

Sydney fell into silence for a moment as Jerry grinned expectantly at her, catching his breath. "So…you've been orchestrating this from the very beginning, huh?" She said slowly.

"_I've put a lot of work into it, I have to say. Discovering the single event that ties together all __of existence__ wasn't easy. The other six are furious with me right now, but they won't have much say once all of time and space is at my fingertips." _He chuckled.

"And you were counting on the grudge I had to settle with this…BB…to keep me alive?"

"_Didn't I just say that?"_Jerry sighed, muttering something how he should have manipulated her IQ as well.

"So tell me this," She said casually, starting to spin her hockey stick again, "You knew what he was going to do, on that night. And you had the power to stop it." She glanced at him, her expression remaining eerily calm. "But you didn't."

Jerry closed his mouth. His gaze turned stony. _"__I told you, some things fate has designed. I could not change that event. Your parents were doomed to die that night. __Whether it was a car crash or a psychotic m__urderer, it makes no difference to you.__"_

"You've been there," she said with sudden realization, "this entire time. You knew about the foster care. About uncle. You knew what would happen to Mikal. You knew all of it and you didn't bother stepping in? My life has been miserable because of you!"

"_Think of the bigger picture, Sydney. If you had suffered none of those hardships, you wouldn't be the hero you are today. You wouldn't be special."_

"I never wanted to be special!" She fell to her knees, eyes red. "I swear," She said in a low voice, "When I get out of this place I'm going to—"

"_To what? Let L Lawliet die just to spite me?__" _He laughed._"__There are no stops on the train you're taking. I know you better than y__ou know yourself. __I wonder what Mikal would say__ about how fond you've become of this detective__?__ You love him, you can't help it.__"_

"SHUT UP!" Sydney swung her hockey stick in a wide arc, cutting his holographic image in half. Jerry's projection fizzed for a moment with a look of surprise on his face, then popped out of existence. Sydney sniffed and forced herself to stand. "Gerald Smith, consider our business relationship terminated." Her eyes glinted dangerously. "When I'm done with this psycho, I'm coming after you."

**Downtown Tokyo**

L followed the stranger into a crowded establishment. He stuck his hands in his pockets and surveyed the room cautiously. A soccer game was buzzing on the screens above the bar and several groups (supporting their teams with flags, jerseys and coloured wigs) either groaned or cheered as a goal was made, stomping their feet and slamming their glasses on the counter. Bottles and upside down glasses lined the wood stained walls and a steady fog of cigarette smoke blurred the area.

At the back of the bar, hidden in a dark corner sat the stranger. His cowboy hat was tucked low over his eyes, his hands were behind his head while his feet were propped up on the table, as if he were taking a nap. He was wearing similar clothing to when they first met, with a leather vest to match his chaps and a magenta coloured dress shirt. He had taken the speckled feather from his hat and was gently chewing on the end of it.

L, ignoring the people he passed as they stared at the odd sleepy looking man with a wild mane of hair, sat down across from the stranger. L lifted his feet up, curling his toes on the bench, and placed his hands on the edge of the table. He was making an effort not to grip it too tightly and keep his shoulders relaxed. When he reflected on their last meeting he realized Jerry had played him effortlessly, riling him up and pushing on key buttons to make him emotional. Sydney, as it turned out, was an integral button. No matter what, he would not let it happen again.

"Fancy a drink, friend?" Jerry asked, pushing a golden glass of foaming beer towards L. Jerry was doing his best to keep his breathing even, though it was difficult to disguise the flushed colour of his cheeks. To L it simply appeared that he had run a city block without stopping to catch his breath, but Jerry was exhausted. Popping in and out of dimensional realities at such a quick pace was taking a lot out of him. He was experiencing a minor setback with the Pennypocket kid, but nothing that couldn't be fixed.

The detective regarded the glass with a disinterested glance. "I was unaware we had become 'friends'."

"Oh, but I think we are." Jerry leaned forward, tipping the lip of his hat up to look at L with bright eyes and a knowing smile. "You, me, I believe we can help each other. That's what friends do, don't they? Help one another?" Keeping a careful eye on L, he grabbed the discarded glass and took a deep sip from it.

"Tell me what you know about Sydney Pennypocket." L said flatly.

Jerry smacked his lips, sighing contently. "At the moment, she's being quite the uncooperative little—" He cleared his throat and adjusted his collar, "Not that it matters, she always did have spirit, after all."

"Where does she come from?"

"Canada. I'm surprised you don't know that, the way she goes on about it."

"You are skirting the subject. You and I both know she should not exist."

"Stubborn, aren't you? You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Whether I believe it or not is irrelevant."

Jerry winked. "Can't be giving away all my aces now, can I? All you need to know right now sonny-boy is that your beloved is in dire danger."

L leaned his chin over his knees unblinkingly. "That sounded like a threat."

"Threat?" Jerry laughed good-naturedly and finished off the beer, licking the white foam from his cheek. "No," he stated firmly, eyes serious, "That was a fact."

"You are wrong. She is safely secured and guarded at our base." L said confidently.

"It's not her body you should be concerned over, though I can see why a strapping young lad like yourself would care about the _physical_ safety of our girl…" Jerry rapped his knuckles on the table, signalling the waiter for another round and giddily lapping up the heated rage L was focused on containing behind a mask of apathy. "You must have noticed, a smart boy like yourself," Jerry articulated his words with a wave of his hand in the air, "That she's not _with_ us right now. Mentally, at least."

"Then where is she?" L asked, playing along. The man seemed to have eyes on Sydney at least, he wanted to know how. This time, when the waiter brought a pair of drinks, L accepted one. He cradled the cold glass on his knees, not noticing the icy condensation drip down his tense hands.

Jerry's face darkened, he stared crossly at his own glass, running his finger around the lip of the cup, creating a bell-like whistling sound. "She is trapped," his eyes flicked back to L, "in a nightmare."

L arched a brow. Was this some sort of code? "You mean, she is dreaming?"

"In a sense," Jerry shrugged, "Though it is not a dream of her own creation. It is a dark, twisted reality made especially for her."

"I see." L nodded slowly, considering something, then stood up, bracing his hands on the table. "This is a waste of my time."

"If you can believe a man is murdering people with a magical powers using only their names and faces, then you have to accept the possibility." Jerry called out.

L began counting some neatly folded bills from his pocket and placed them in the waiter's hands. "I do not 'have' to do anything. You are obviously mad. I am not interested in sorting through the riddles of a crazy man. I do not know what you have to do with Sydney's past, but I will discover it on my own." L turned to leave.

"She's going to die." Jerry said gravely, watching as L's back muscles tightened as he stopped in his tracks.

L turned his head slightly to the side, hiding his eyes behind his bangs. His mouth was a sharp, thin line. "You are testing my patience," he said coldly.

Jerry flashed a brutal grin. "Oh dear, have I unleashed the monster within, great detective? My, my, what _will _you do to me? Lock me away and interrogate me until I talk?"

"And if I do?" L asked quietly.

"I am much more powerful than you could imagine, boy." Jerry's voice took a harsh tone. "If you value keeping the Canadian's company then listen closely, I won't explain myself twice."

**Sydney's Nightmare**

Sydney stood at the peak of a deathly hill, hair billowing around her frame and her hockey stick stuck firmly in the eye socket of a bleached bull's head. The mound was comprised completely of bones; human femurs and skulls, dog ribs and even an elephant's tusk or two. Held together with interlocking limbs it was the highest point of the dreary graveyard. She stared at her next challenge with a grim expression, a dark fire burning behind her eyes.

A massive wall stretched in either direction, each end disappearing deep into the horizon. It, like the ground she stood on, was made of packed red soil, decaying organs and was dotted with sunken bones that oozed from its huge body like popped pimples. Rivaling the height of a small skyscraper, it practically dared her to defeat its impossible mass and reach the other side. A flock of vultures circled slowly down, landing on the burnt branches of the mangled hangman's tree to her left. It took her a moment to realize that their beady bird eyes and beaks were replaced with torn doll heads, grotesquely stitched onto their skinny necks. When they opened their mouths and showed off their sharp teeth, they croaked, imitating the sound of wheezing snickers.

Sydney, chewing on the inside of her cheek with a resolved air of nonchalance, flicked the end of her hockey stick and tossed the bovine skull upwards. It was narrow and hollowed out with a long snout that curved in on itself and thin, layered horns that snaked into an 'S' shape at the apex of the crown. It looked like the kind old western movies would show mounted above a saloon. She snatched it from the air, flipping it like a baseball cap and placed it down over her hair like a helmet.

She dampened her fingers on a pig stomach, flicking the excess blood from her hand and wiped two identical red streaks beneath her eyes like a football player using paint.

Now she was ready.

She disembarked, using her hockey stick like a walking staff, and trudged through the wet guts of the graveyard towards the wall.

At first the going was easy, there were plenty of bones at the base of the structure, giving her lots of easy to reach footholds. But as the hours stretched and the higher she climbed, it became harder and harder to get a good grip on the slippery substance the wall was constructed out of.

About halfway up the wall Sydney grunted and wiped away a thick, dripping liver that had fallen onto her face. Her other hand gripped tightly onto a horn of what she suspected was the lifeless body of a triceratops' skeleton. She lifted her foot and stuck it with a SPLOOCH into the constantly deteriorating wall, finding a good hold and lifting herself even higher.

The vulture-doll hybrids flew with hungry expressions around her, following her up the revolting monolith. They laughed cruelly, their loosely painted eyes rolling around in their plastic heads and their silver teeth glinting beneath the burnt sky. She heaved herself up another few inches, keeping her eyes on the distant goal. Her hockey stick was stuck firmly between her teeth and the back of her jersey flapped loudly behind her. By now her jeans were soaked through with aged brown blood that continuously seeped from the wall like deathly tears, making her sweat mix with the hot, sticky liquid.

After she slipped and nearly slid down the wall and back to her death, she took a sharp rib from one of the many bones to choose from and sawed off the denim at her knees, letting the extra weight fall to the earth below. At one point one of the braver Frankenstein birds gave a terrible shriek and dove at her. It managed to scratch three deep red lines into her back, tearing the fabric of her jersey (and her flesh) before she batted it out of the sky. It fell in a downwards spiral with a cry of despair as Sydney's screams of pain echoed above it, barely muffled by the wood she gripped ferociously between her clenched teeth.

The others kept their distance after that.

It took her what felt like hours to reach the top; leaving her sweaty, bleeding and breathing heavy. When she got there, she used the last of her strength to pull herself up and vault one leg over the edge. Straddling the wall, she looked at what lay beyond.

Heavy clouds of ash and smoke hung a few feet below the wall, swirling as far as the eye could see. Orange flares brightened beneath the tumultuous cover, rumbling ominously before darkening once again. They appeared sporadic and Sydney wondered what could cause them, they didn't look like lightning. She lifted her other leg over the side and sat on the edge of the wall, letting her feet dangle just above the hostile fog and adjusted the skull on her head so she could peer suspiciously into the distance. It was no good, she couldn't make heads or tails of this place.

She shuffled closer to the edge, resigning herself to entering the smoky territory blind, when the wall she sat on suddenly shuddered. It trembled like a bowl of jello and tilted dangerously forward. Sydney was nearly tossed over the side and scrambled, she placed both hands firmly on her hockey stick and stabbed it into the rust-coloured wall like a pickaxe. For a moment she swung there as the wall creaked.

"Don't…you…dare—!"

But the wall would not be threatened. With a bone-shattering crash, the barrier gave way.

Sydney's eyes widened and she tried to crawl up the tumbling guts and bones, like a race dog leaping over obstacles she dodged and weaved, trying to keep the upper ground. Eventually her luck ran out and she was struck square in the stomach with a bear skull, knocking her flat on her back to slide down with the rest of the structure. She flipped backwards, somersaulting head over heels as the wall broke down and speeded into the black smoke like a destructive avalanche. As she was tossed onto her shoulders by the unsteady earth a sharpened stray tibia among a pile of bones broke through the skin in her calf and tore straight into the muscle.

She screamed.

**East Downtown Tokyo**

"I'm so sorry!" Matsuda said quickly to the shop keeper, gently grabbing the apple Sydney's comatose shell had taken and returning it to the testy owner with a brief, apologetic smile before racing after her.

Aizawa rolled his eyes, flashed his badge, tossed the vendor a coin and took the apple back, biting into it. Chewing slowly with a dull 'harumph', he followed the two into the park. The park was quiet and dark on this side of town, far away from the busy circus that played its _dah-da-dadadada-dah-dah-duuuhda _tunes with laughing clowns and a flashing ferris wheel. The two officers trailed Sydney who wandered aimlessly along the park's path. She stopped for a moment to walk down to the pond and stick her feet in the water, frightening a family of ducks and leaving her toes sticky with mud and pond algae, before continuing on to the bridge.

"How long do you think she'll sleepwalk?" Matsuda whispered behind his hand.

Aizawa finished off his apple and tossed the core over his shoulder, landing a perfect three pointer in the garbage can behind him with an echoing THUNK. "Who knows," He said with a shrug. "Why? Tired?" He shot Matsuda a look.

Matsuda waved his hands in front of him in protest. "N-no, no! I'm happy to help. It's just…" Matsuda stopped talking, mouth hanging open as he stared at their charge.

She stood in the centre of the metal bridge that crossed the pond. The white paint looked grey in the dim illumination of the fairy lights that hung from the bars and overhang. The cold water rippled below her, reflecting a warped version of the three. She faced the circus, expression as blank as ever, with her hands gently holding the rail and her toes hanging over the edge. Blood had blossomed across the fabric of her nightgown, revealing three long scrapes down her back.

"What the hell?" Aizawa shouted, racing towards her. "When did that happen?"

Her body collapsed just as Aizawa reached her. He cradled her carefully in his arms, his forehead tightening with worry lines. "Matsuda!" He barked. "Call Ryuzaki!" He tried snapping his fingers in front of Sydney's face, but she simply stared at the stars in the sky with a dull expression.

Matsuda fumbled for his phone with trembling fingers. "B-But I thought we weren't supposed to wake her."

"Damn those rules, she'll bleed out at this rate." He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her middle, tightening the make-shift tourniquet by knotting the sleeves. "Come on, kid." He softly slapped her cheeks. "Nap time's over."

Matsuda's phone rang for a moment before L's voice answered. _"Matsuda, what i__s going on?"_

Just then there was a loud snap and Sydney's leg bent unnaturally beneath her clothes. Blood trickled down her calf and puddled onto the bridge, dripping over the side and into the water. She arched her back like a creature straight out of The Exorcist, opened her mouth and screamed.

**The Bar**

Jerry leaned back, having finished his tale and watching the detective with satisfaction. He took another swig of his beer, digesting the moment with pleasure. Maybe he shouldn't have confessed so much, but it couldn't be helped now. He was treading in unstable waters now and he knew it, the other six would be furious with him, but it took risky moves to win a game as bold as this.

L stared at the cowboy with an unreadable expression. His hands were folded with his fingers interlocked, supporting his chin. Before L could open his mouth to reply his phone rang. L held up one finger as Jerry pretended to inspect the menu. He flipped open his cell and gripped it between his thumb and forefinger an inch away from his ear. "Matsuda, what is going on?"

Suddenly, a scream resonated in the background. L's eyes widened and he froze, nearly letting the phone slip from his fingers.

Jerry folded his hands behind his head. "Looks like you've got yourself a damsel in distress. Better get a move on, Sherlock, she won't last long. Remember what I told you!"

As L ran out of the bar Jerry's crazed, incessant laughter followed him, his final words ringing repeatedly in his ears as he recalled their conversation.

_L had just sat through an insane and imaginative story about Sparks and parallel universes and seven odd travellers who started it all. But none of that concerned him. There were a dozen theories he had already surmised to explain why Sydney Pennypocket existed, this was only one of them (albeit a more creative version). No. What concerned him was the sentence Jerry had been leading up to the entire time. The sentence he knew would get the great detective's immediate attention._

"_BB's back in town. He's got a list and guess who's at the top?"_

L ran faster.

_End of Chapter 32_

A very confusing chapter so let me quickly summarize. I didn't go through each moment in the chapter second by second, choosing to chop it up into scenes the way an anime episode would. This lead me to altering between Sydney's nightmare and what was happening current time with the task force (and drove me absolutely mad trying to get it to flow right). A LOT of stuff happened. We discovered (most) of Jerry's motivation (the jerk). Confirmed what all of you already guessed (you smart cookies) that BB is in fact the same person who killed Sydney's parents. Learned Aizawa is having trouble at home (I wanted to make him as relatable as possible. It's touched on in the anime, but if I'm going to write a fanfic about DNOTE might as well delve a bit deeper). And revealed that L now knows the truth (whether he believes it or not is up to him) about travellers (man, L can be scary when he wants to be, huh?)

I hope I did okay. I made it long on purpose to make up for the hiatus.

Tell me what you think. I'm in desperate need of motivation for the next chapter.

~Satchelle

PS: For those of you who have read Death Note: Another Note and are all like 'WTF is going on?' I PROMISE I shall explain. More BB and L in the next chapter if I ever get it written, I swear.

Cheers.


	33. Red Drug

**WARNING: For those of you who haven't read Death Note: Another Note I STRONGLY advise it, since there are spoilers in this chapter of that story. It'll help you understand what's going on too. Personally I had borrowed it from a friend, but I know you can torrent it off Pirate Bay (which is a nice little loophole that gets you around the whole 'illegal' downloading thing). **

**Also -YAY for over 1000 reviews. You guys rock!**

**Ahem. Onto the chapter.**

**Chapter 33**

**Sydney's Nightmare**

Sydney's eyes fluttered open. She groaned, waiting for the world to come into focus. Coughing, she forced herself into a sitting position. Her hair and jersey were stained black from soot. Dried blood and dirt caked her face like tribal tattoos and her fingernails were completely destroyed into jagged, torn nubs. Hand held over her mouth to deter the stench, she weakly dragged a rotting corpse off her waist, freeing her legs. Gritting her teeth, she felt for the sharp bone that was stuck inside her calf muscle. Getting a good hold on it, she took a deep breath and pulled it out.

"GUR…AAAGH!" She threw her head back, eyes shut tight and body trembling. Her screams echoed through the empty air and disturbed the circling vultures above, making them scatter.

Eyes watering, she ripped a sleeve off her jersey and tied it tightly around the wound. She stumbled to her feet. The red sludge of the wall surrounded her now in mountainous piles, still dripping and slurping. Occasionally a bubble would pop in the viscous material, like air in pudding, releasing a foul stench. Sydney yanked her hockey stick from a nearby mound, using it to limp forward. Her back was bent in a cruel ark and she gritted through the pain as the scabs across her spine cracked and split, festering more blood. She brushed off the bull skull she found buried under a small heap of scurrying rats as large as puppies, using her hockey stick to beat them back as she retrieved it. It was lined with red and black, giving it an even more primal feel. She put it back on her head and began crawling up one pile of rotting guts and dirt to the next. The air was heavy and thick, filled with a poisonous black smoke. Trees, half buried by the wall, rose high above her, a forest of twisted, dead branches. Eventually she left the broken wall behind, finding herself deep in the dead forest. The ground was coated with a thick layer of grey and white ash, forcing her to lift up the collar of her jersey to keep herself from breathing it in.

The orange of the cloudy sky dimmed to a distant purple, throwing the already dark forest into true blackness. Sydney was forced to feel in front of her first with her hockey stick for fear of tripping and swallowing a face full of ash. Her eyes were half lidded and her breathing ragged, she glowered at the blackness. Her dead leg dragged behind her, panging every so often. As the shadows darkened between the trees red eyes began to follow her determined movements. Sydney noticed them warily, though they did not approach. The red eyes sent her mind back, so many years ago, when she saw a single red eye staring at her from a crack in the door. Shivering, Sydney held her side tightly and trudged on. She could hear the eyes scurrying around her, snickering to themselves, waiting until she was at her weakest to strike.

"Had enough yet?"

A voice said ominously, and Sydney turned sharply, trying to catch the shadow that darted to the side, just out of sight.

"Just getting started." She gripped her hockey stick tighter. "Come out and face me, _Beyond Birthday._" She taunted.

"_So_ glad we're finally on a first name basis."

"I should have guessed." She laughed to herself, her chuckling quickly turning into a painful cough. "It figures, that the one fan to get stuck in this world didn't even know her lore. I hadn't read your story in _years_, almost forgot about you, in fact." The shadow was circling her now. Sydney followed the movement with her eyes, tensing, ready. "What I don't understand is how you escaped. I mean, I thought it ended with you burning yourself and getting thrown in jail to _rot_."

"Ah, yes. _That_ part. To be honest, it was rather easy. I wasn't the one who burned. Just some mad fan of mine. Do you know how cheap plastic surgery is these days? It didn't take much to make him take my shape and convince him to pour lighter fluid on himself. Honestly, you fans, so dedicated. Poor Naomi didn't even notice the switch, though I can't blame her, once a person's skin melts off it is difficult to tell the difference."

"Didn't matter though, did it?" Sydney grinned with satisfaction. "L still _beat _you."

"Don't test me, my sweet Sydney." A presence appeared behind her, silent as a ghost. Hot breath glided down the back of her neck and Sydney kept herself perfectly still. She felt the harsh metallic prick of a knife graze her exposed arm, the flat of the blade sliding up and down it almost affectionately. "You won't like me when I'm mad."

"You think I like you _now_?" Sydney scowled. "If popularity points were what you wanted you should have considered that _before _you chopped up the 'folks.'"

The knife snaked down to her wrist and Sydney resisted the urge to shudder as a strong, cold hand lifted up her own, flipping it over palm up to show her scar where he last cut her. "You talk too much, Sydney…my…_sweet_ strawberry." BB leaned over her, still breathing in her ear with a sadistic grin, the other arm wrapped over her shoulder, showing her the knife as he traced the lines in her palm with the iron tip. "You should scream more." His crow-like hair mixed with her chocolate curls and she scrunched her nose, he smelled sickly sweet, like fermented berries. "I can still remember the sound of your mother, begging me to stop the _pain_. She was so loud and irritating, I was forced to cut out her tongue."

"YAH!" Sydney swung her hockey stick, aiming for the man over her shoulder, but it was met with thin air. She looked around wildly, trying to see him in the smoke. When she tried to take a step she grimaced and bent over, holding her leg tightly. "I'll kill you," she swore through gritted teeth. "I'LL KILL YOU!"

BB laughed. _"No, please." _He imitated a shrill woman's voice. _"Stop, please make it stop."_

Sydney began striking into the mist at random, slicing through the grey fog as if she held a sharpened sword. "Face me, you bastard!" She huffed, her cheeks red from the effort. Now every glowing eye in the dark was BB, laughing at her, egging her on. She attacked over and over, exhausting herself. "FIGHT ME!"

"Tut-tut, show some self-control little strawberry. You're going to pass out from blood loss at this rate. We can't have that."

Sydney stopped, breathing heavy, her back rising and falling with each inhale and exhale as she glared into the dark. Her injured leg felt numb and her arms weak. "Why…why didn't you just kill me back then? Why did you leave me in that room with…" Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and she sniffed, rubbing them away. Her hockey stick slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground with a resounding THUMP. She felt like a little girl again, trapped in her house with a monster, "What was _left _of them?"

"Oh, Sydney. Sweet, sad Sydney." He walked into the clearing, ash billowing around him, knife glinting from the red eyes whispering around them. His arms were held open wide, as if he was going to give her a hug, but he stopped across from her as she sobbed. "I can make the pain go away, just give me your spark and it will all end. I promise." He reached forward with his knife and flicked away a tear from her cheek.

Sydney looked up at him. His eyes were hidden beneath the jagged curtain of his bangs, his mouth a firm, straight line. In the right light he almost looked like L. He had the same strong chin, the same height, even the same, sun-deprived paleness in his skin. He was wearing a black shirt instead of a white one, but otherwise…

"_No matter what, don't give it to him." _Thalia's voice resonated in Sydney's mind just before she released her dying scream.

Her miserable expression contorted into one of determined wrath. She swiped his hand away, her fingers bouncing off the blade. He took a surprised step back and she used her foot to flip her hockey stick in the air. She held it in front of her, keeping him at a distance. "Never!"

For a moment he said nothing, then he sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "As you wish. We'll see what you have to say after the fire." He turned to leave.

Sydney's eyebrows tilted downwards. Confused. _Fire…?_

And suddenly, the world erupted.

**Task Force Base (Current Status: Crowded Hotel Room)**

Beep…

Beep…Beep…

Aizawa paced back and forth, hands fiddling with his tie (he had removed it and was impatiently wrapping and unwrapping it around his palm). "I don't understand," he said, breaking the dreary silence, "Why did we have to rent this stuff. Can't we just take her to a hospital?"

The sofa and coffee table had been shoved to the edge of the den, leaving room for the intrusive and portable hospital bed to be stationed. Monitors on wheels, a rolling IV and an oxygen tank surrounded the crisp mattress. On it was Sydney, breathing slowly through a tube. Her leg was splinted and bandaged, her chest bound flat by the many layers of bandages wrapped around her torso to subside the bleeding cuts on her back. A thin sheet covered her from the waist down. The monitor beeped steadily, a green line arching and falling, keeping in sequence with her heart beats.

"How do you think a normal hospital would react to a girl suddenly acquiring wounds from thin air, Aizawa?" L asked calmly. He was busy on hold with the Los Angeles police department and was growing extremely exasperated.

Babeep…Babeep…

"I just don't understand how this could happen. Could this be Kira's doing?" Aizawa stared out the window, gripping his tie tightly.

"Umm…" Matsuda started, his voice too quiet to be heard.

Beepbeep…beepbeep….

"I have yet to surmise a hypothesis as of yet. IF Kira has learned how to torture as well as kill then we have to revise our entire case study…Hello? Yes, do you have the files I asked for?" L's fingers tapped his thigh edgily. "Is he still in solitary confinement?" L fell silent. "Do you have the original documents? No, I do not need them. Throw them away. I want a new DNA test, cross reference it with every database we have access to. I will have my assistant text you my password, use it if any government gives you trouble." He shut his phone with a snap, not allowing the representative on the other line to ask any questions.

"Uh, guys," Matsuda said again, a little louder this time.

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep….

"I just feel so damn helpless!" Aizawa shouted, slamming his fist down on the window.

"GUYS!" Both Aizawa and L turned to look at a trembling Matsuda, who was pointing at Sydney with a shaking hand. "L-Look."

A creeping red stain was flaring across her one exposed shoulder. It crackled and its edges singed black. The smell of burned flesh flooded the room. The monitor beeped rapidly, the green line sporadically dancing across the screen. Aizawa leapt over an armchair and watched, powerless, as another blotch of red formed on her leg, around the puncture wound.

"Matsuda, we need ice water and more bandages. Now!" L ordered, striding quickly to stand by Sydney's side. "Aizawa," he said quietly, "I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, name it Ryuzaki." Aizawa said as Matsuda raced out of the room as if the bats of hell were nipping at his heels.

"I need you to knock me out."

**Sydney's Nightmare**

**First Person POV**

An explosion of fire burst from the earth next to me, clipping me in the shoulder. It flared brightly and I realized where the orange lights I had seen from the top of the wall came from. I was in the middle of a natural minefield, a pocket of flammable gas below the surface ignited in the unstable conditions, creating towers of fire that streamed into the sky. I rolled away, gritting my teeth against the strange throbbing that overcame the skin on my shoulder as it steamed. Not moments later another pillar of fire erupted, forcing me to jump out of its destructive path. The ground was shaking with enough force to make me stumble. The already burnt branches above ignited once again, creating a ceiling of flame that spread quickly across the forest like a fiery net. Coughing from the ash, I rolled on my back and used my hockey stick to smack away the falling flaming branches, squinting as the burning embers coated my eyelashes. Using my staff, I dragged myself to my feet and began to half stagger, half run. A sheer wall of flame burst beside me, so close I could feel its heat licking my cheek. I turned away from it, but not enough to spare my leg. The flames curled around my ankle and swirled to my knee, greedily burning away my flesh and make-shift bandage, gluing the melted fabric of my jersey sleeve to the hole in my calf, cauterizing the wound.

With a shudder I collapsed to my knees, breathing ragged from the ash, barely able to hold up my hockey stick, eyes watering. The ash stained my skin grey, mingling with blood and sweat with dye, leaving my body void of all colour – except my eyes, they stayed a stubborn blue. I dared not take a full breath for fear the ash would tear apart my lungs. A rumble below my body hinted at the balloon of fire prepared to burst and consume my flesh. The ground bulged like a toad's jowels, trembling from the force. I exhaled, my eyes flickered.

The earth exploded in the spot I had been, sending rock and dirt flying like bombing projectiles. I raced well ahead of it, darting and spinning like an acrobat, momentarily ignoring the screams of my body. Towers of fire swirled around me, detonating any trees unfortunate enough to be too close like TNT and splattering the area with sharp splinters the size of my forearms. I ducked as one speeded past my head and turned away from another, hopping over a burning log. The red eyes followed me, I could hear howling coming from them as they raced through the flames as well, matching my speed.

I attacked a bushel of thorns with my hockey stick, hacking at it desperately and pushing my way through. A thin red thorn pricked my cheek as I forced myself forward, another nicked my lip. I carried on until I reached the other side, somersaulting.

And to my surprise, landed in a snow drift. I opened one eye, then the other. The rumblings of the fire beneath the earth were distant. I glanced behind me, hands sifting through the snow in search of my fallen hockey stick. The forest lit up the night with its haunting orange glow, its swirling towers of yellow fire reaching up to the heavens as if to catch a star and consume it, before falling back down. I sat in a frozen wasteland, the ground stretching out before me for miles. A severe wind picked up, prickling my bare skin. I fell back in the snow, waving my arms and legs like an angel and burying myself deep, welcoming the cool fluffiness against my burns. The comfort did not last long, for a loud, shrieking howl rose with the wind, sending a shiver running up and down my spine as if an electric eel had been stapled beneath my skin and was wriggling to get free. Slowly, trying not to draw attention to myself, I reached for my hockey stick and stood up. My bare toes curled and uncurled, the snow reaching up to my ankles. A took a moment to run to the edge of the forest and snap off a large branch. I ripped off my remaining sleeve and tied it around the end, then held it to the smoking thorn bush. It ignited, flared for a moment, then calmed into a consistent simmer. I began to cautiously walk away from the orange illumination of the forest and out into the frozen darkness.

Another howl joined the first, closer this time.

I picked up the pace, my only light the burning branch in my hand. I waved it around me as I jogged, trying to keep whatever was following me at bay. I thought I saw narrow, red eyes glowing in the distance, but they disappeared in each swirl of snow. My feet were numb now but I didn't dare stop. An instinctual sensation was reborn in my gut, passed between DNA strands for centuries, learned from eons ago in the thick jungles of Africa.

It was fear.

The fear of being hunted.

**Task Force Base (Current Status: Temporary Clinic)**

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Ryuzaki?"

"Not enough to kill me, Aizawa. Just enough to force me into an unconscious state." L said plainly, as if he was simply asking for a spoonful of grape flavoured cough medicine instead of dangerous chemicals.

Aizawa looked down at the detective, who had removed his shirt and was lying across the length of the sofa, head supported by a white hospital pillow. Matsuda was sitting on a stool, carefully covering Sydney's new burns with a cooling agent and then gently wrapping them in bandages. A cotton ball and antiseptic had been applied to her lip and cheek where new cuts had recently formed. "I just don't see the point. This is bordering on psychotic voodoo."

"I have a very good reason for this," L replied, wiping rubbing alcohol on the inner crook of his elbow to sterilize. He took a small needle attached with a skinny tube that hooked into an IV and punctured his skin. If it hurt, L didn't show it.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure you do." With a grim expression of disapproval, Aizawa flipped a switch and a clear liquid began to flow through the coiling tube. "But it feels like a shot in the dark if you ask me."

When the drug reached L's blood stream the detective took a shuddering breath and relaxed. "If Miss Krispy's body is responding to injuries on the subconscious level, listening to psychosomatic waves and reacting with logical feedback, then the only way to reach her is by entering the same mental state." His eyes began to droop. "There was a study in Switzerland with two rats that did the same thing when they were sleeping, responding in the exact same way as the other when introduced to new environmental factors. Obviously not to such an extreme case as this but…" His eyelids flickered and his breathing evened out. "It will work," He said, shifting sleepily.

Aizawa eyed L's vitals uneasily. "That's what I'm afraid of."

**Sydney's Nightmare**

They attacked as a well-coordinated unit. Flanking me so I had nowhere to run. They were smart, waiting until my branch had nearly burned down to the nub. I coaxed the flame, holding the now baseball sized piece of wood. I was forced to remove what was left of my shorts (now my jersey truly had become a dress, albeit a frumpy, singed, sleeveless one) and knot the fabric around my feet to deter frostbite. My hockey stick was coated with a thin film of ice and white flakes mixed with my hair and lashes, leaving the tips of my (oversized) ears numb and my lips blue. I almost preferred the flaming forest to this frozen desert, at least the forest ended.

I watched as the light from my homemade torch faded steadily, the protective halo around my body growing smaller and smaller. A short tuft of wind was all it took and my branch deteriorated into dying embers, torn away from my grasp.

They were on me in seconds.

It was difficult to see through the dark and snow, if not for their red eyes and excited growls I would have been completely blind. One came at me from the front, leaping into the air with its claws extended, jaws open and ready to clamp down on my throat. I smacked it away with my hockey stick, hearing the satisfying CRUNCH as wood met bone. It yelped and scampered away, allowing one of its brothers to take a turn. This one aimed for my injured leg, but I kicked it in the gut and it slid away with a whimper. I slipped for a moment as the snow seemed to give way, then regained my footing, sliding one foot in front of the other and using my jean/boots as skates. I realized I was standing on a black, icy lake that was laid out before me, flat and bare of any markings. The sliding was easier on my injured leg than running had been, putting less weight on it. With a whoop of delight I advanced, in my element, putting as much distance between me and them as possible.

I might as well have been flying.

The pack took longer to gain their footing than myself, learning to use the pads of their feet instead of their claws. They raced in a 'V' formation, tongues lapping against their cheeks, aiming for me. I skated fast and true, heading further and further into the blackness. A low guttural growl sounded as one of the pack nipped at my heels, slobbering onto the ice. I turned around, hair flying in front of my face as I continued to keep my momentum by skating backwards. I lifted my hockey stick, sweeping left and right with my body to throw it off. I raised the stick over my shoulder and, in true slap shot fashion, smashed the edge into its skull. It fell, sliding to a stop. It did not rejoin the chase.

By skating backwards I got a better look at the beasts. There were ten in all. Their fur was thick and black, their eyes a triangular shape and the colour of dried blood. They resembled dogs, but were half the size of a grizzly bear with larger haunches to supply power and curved, sabre like teeth – the perfect killing machines. They reminded me of the dogs that chased me through alleys and abandoned subway passages in New York, but far more fearsome. Those animals had been sickly and weak, their ribs showing from weeks without a decent meal. These were all muscle and claws, ready to rip my guts from my stomach and eat me while I screamed, still alive.

I heard a SNAP.

Still skating, I looked down. A sharp, 'Z' shaped line was following my movements, sending ice chips flying and small spurts of water shooting into the air. _You've got to be kidding me. _I stumbled back around, trying to pick up speed. It sounded like an explosion when the ice finally fell, cracking into a hundred jagged pieces inches behind my heels. The pack yelped in fear as the ground disappeared beneath them in a flash, replaced by towering eruptions of black water as their own feet betrayed them, tipping over the ice flows and flipping them into their watery graves. The ice was thick, and the platforms the cracks created smashed into each other, creating a domino effect behind me. I was hurtling at top speed now, fraying my jean/boots down to the bare threads. I saw a shadowed structure in the distance and aimed for it like a bullet.

But despite my efforts, the ice had other plans. It shattered beneath my feet, turning into a million broken cubes and sending me plummeting below the surface. The cold water hit me like an avalanche, shocking my nerve endings and signalling all of my muscles to shut down at once. I floated for a moment, suspended, watching in paralyzed horror as the hole in the ice above started to close. _It's just like my dream_. I thought, gasping for breath and swallowing a mouthful of water, watching as the last of my oxygen disappeared in a cloud of bubbles, floating away. A shadow stood over the hole above, eyes glowing red. I thought I saw a smile.

Anger boiled in my stomach, sending shots of warm adrenaline to my appendages and ordering them to move. I kicked my legs and windmilled my arms, shooting for the surface. I reached the ceiling of the ice, but when I scratched it with my hands, the hole had disappeared, already frozen over. I kicked at it and bashed it with my fists, trying to stab a desperate hole with my hockey stick that I had stubbornly held onto. Salty tears mixed with the dark green lake water as my fingers slipped from the ice and I drifted, sinking. The blue in my eyes seemed to drift away, melting, replaced by the glossy blackness of oncoming death.

Just as my last string of consciousness was about to disappear, a giant fist smashed through the ice above me and grabbed my wrist. It lifted me up and out of the water, holding me beneath my armpits and dragged me out onto the ice. I sputtered, coughing out a couple lungfulls of liquid. For a moment I lay with my cheek sticking to the ice, heaving like a fish out of water, before gasping and rolling onto my back to look at my savior.

He was hunched over me in a crouching position, wiping one bloody hand off on his pants. "Well, this is an interesting turn of events."

"L?" I exclaimed, bewildered. "What are you doing in my dream?"

"I am afraid I will be asking myself that same question for years to come. I believe my purpose is to wake you up." He looked me up and down.

I felt a blush creep onto my cheeks (at least, I _thought _it was a blush, turns out falling into a frozen lake can cause quite the fever) as I recalled I was wearing nothing but a very thin jersey (and some red lingerie that was in dire need of some laundry detergent and a power wash). Shivering, I used the help of his shoulder to stand. "Are you a traveller too?"

"Not that I am aware of, though circumstance might suggest otherwise. I had a very _interesting _conversation with a cowboy in a bar a few hours ago."

"You've met _JERRY_?" I rubbed my arms for warmth, unable to stop my teeth from chattering as the first signs of hypothermia began to set in. "Wow, I'm impressed. You're a better detective than I thought."

"I will accept that as a compliment." He stated, keeping me standing as we started forward, walking as slow as my injured leg and bare feet (my jean/shoes had unravelled in the lake, which was a shame, I was starting to consider them incredibly stylish, along with my bull skull helmet) would allow. "I have many questions of my own to ask you."

"Ask me later, I'm a bit busy, if you haven't noticed."

"Yes, I know. Are you really planning on exacting revenge on your parents' murderer with a hockey stick?"

"When you put it like that it doesn't sound nearly as awesome—Agh." I winced as my abused leg gave way and L was forced to hold my waist to stop me from falling. I collapsed against his chest, breathing heavy.

He held the back of his hand to my forehead. "Sydney, you have a fever. I suggest we find shelter before it worsens."

My eyes were cloudy and distant, my lips and fingers purple. My hair was a series of icicles, flattened against my skin and lay frozen, straight down my back. "No, I can't stop. That's just what _he _wants. I have to…have…" My throat constricted as a series of coughs committed a hostile takeover of my lungs and left me weak, barely able to stand. L kept one hand on my back supportively, and when I finished he scooped me up damsel style and started to walk. "L, you're being ridiculous. I'm fine." I said weakly. He didn't answer, merely continuing my original path towards the looming structure in the distance. I was too feeble to argue, and as the fever spread to my shivering body, my eyelids fluttered and, breathing in his comforting scent, I fell into a troubled sleep.

**Task Force Base (Current Status: Location of Psychological Fringe Science Experimentation)**

Matsuda dabbed Sydney's forehead with a cool cloth, trying to deter the fever that had formed while Aizawa wrapped L's fingers with gauze. Aizawa had watched with amazement as their leader's knuckles broke open and started to bleed right before his eyes, as if L had punched through a brick wall. He focused on his task, using it as justification to stop asking useless questions (he'd lose his mind otherwise).

"I feel like if I stop to think about it I'd go insane." Matsuda said, reflecting on Aizawa's thoughts, as he changed the cloth and pressed it firmly down on her forehead. He adjusted the icepacks he had placed around her body on the bed, fiddling with them to keep himself busy.

"I know what you mean." Aizawa said gruffly. "Do you think Kira is behind it?"

"How can he be? He doesn't know Ryuzaki's name." Matsuda replied, his eyes tired from going twenty four hours without sleep, as he went through the motions of checking Sydney's IV. They had been afraid of giving her more than the minimum dosage of pain killer, unsure if it will only deepen her comatose state.

"Good point." They fell silent for a moment. With a groan Aizawa stood up, stretching. "I think I'm going to make some coffee. Want some?"

Matsuda brightened. "I'll have a venti, please and thank you."

"A what?"

"Uh, err, never mind. Just pour me an extra-large cup when it's ready."

"You got it."

**Sydney's Nightmare**

L tended the fire he had constructed using a few chair legs, some scraps of paper and a box of matches he had found underneath a desk. The fire cast haunting shadows on the wall of the hospital room, giving the rusty beds and deteriorating medicine cabinets a contorted, lurid look.

The structure they had scene turned out to be a massive, abandoned hospital. He was forced to kick the glass doors open while cradling Sydney in his arms. The front desk was torn apart and the floors were stained with suspicious red streaks, as if someone had dragged their bleeding body across it. The elevators were smashed, sparking every so often, as if they had fallen several floors. He saw a petite arm clutching a teddy bear from within the wreckage. Everything was in a state of decay. The windows were bordered and several rooms had been chained shut. Papers were strewn everywhere and equipment was knocked over, leaving a maze of metal and needles to sort through. He was glad Sydney was asleep when he negotiated the twisting hallways and rooms. He wasn't certain her stomach could handle the horrors he saw. He kept his gaze passive, staring with interest as he walked by the observational window to an operating table. The white light swung gently, creaking, illuminating a body sliced open, its chest cavity held apart with rusty clamps, a bone-saw easily seen left behind in its neck. He saw several similar tortuous scenes in other rooms. Someone, or _something_ had been experimenting with several murderous methods including: crude electrocution via power cables which left behind the decrepit stench of burnt flash lingering in the air, dissection, drowning, bludgeoning. Every new body he came across was like a new experiment, and all showed signs of torture.

He had found some clean blankets in a closet and used them to cover Sydney's shivering body, trying to sweat the fever out. He kept her on the floor, close to the fire, rather than using the bed (it was shredded anyways). Her cheeks were streaked with red and her breathing uneven. Tense lines did not disappear from her forehead, as if she were dreaming of something particularly unpleasant. L pulled the blankets up to her chin and dabbed the sweat from her temple.

"How sweet, her knight in shining armour has come to the rescue."

L's head turned sharply at the sound of another man's twisted voice. A figure, hidden in the shadows, leaned against the doorway. His eyes glinted red from the firelight. Slowly, L stood up to face the stranger.

"I'm quite impressed, actually." The man began playing with a silver knife, flipping it in the air and catching it effortlessly. "I didn't think you'd believe that doddering fool Jerry."

"'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'" L answered, eyeing the knife.

"Yes, Sherlock Holmes said that, wasn't it? You did like those books when we were children. Always reading them as bedtime stories to A, if I recall." His red eyes flashed.

"That was a long time ago."

"No it wasn't."

The two stood across from each other in silence for a lengthy, tense moment, before the stranger smiled, tilting his head to the side. He strode forward, into the light. His eyes were wide and glittering with a strange, bloody glimmer. His black hair was in the tangled state of someone who hadn't looked in a mirror for a long time. His nails were bitten down to the bone and his skin had a maggot's pale gleam. He wore a black shirt and his jeans were stained with dried, cracked blood. Over his shirt he wore an equally stained doctor's coat and a sterilizing mask that hung around his neck. His mouth was curved in a wide, mad arc that stretched from ear to ear in a sick, crazed manner.

"Stay back, Beyond."

"Or what?" BB danced to the side with a little skip, pirouetting gracefully. "If you haven't noticed," He spread his arms out, bowing, "This is my world. My rules. And you two are trespassers. Want to know what I do to trespassers?" He asked giddily.

"L," A frail voice croaked. Sydney struggled to sit upright, her eyes clouded from fever. "I hear him, L. Let me at him." She coughed, dry heaving.

"Yeah, L, let her at me. I've got all _sorts_ of lovely things planned for my little strawberry over there. I was thinking of playing a board game together to break the ice. Ever heard of 'Operation'?" He succumbed to a fit of giggles.

L stepped in front of Sydney, blocking her from BB's view. "I will not warn you again, Beyond. Stay back."

"How very gallant of you, dear detective. I'm afraid, however, you have little choice in the matter. Sydney is my creation, my _property_. I'm what made her special and that means I can do _whatever_ I want with her. Would you like to watch?"

L, without revealing the slightest emotion, dropped down and swung his leg low, aiming to trip BB. The serial killer saw it coming and leaped over L's sweeping legs, like a jack rabbit. L followed through and launched his heel up and back using his arms as leverage, this time making contact and donkey-kicking BB directly under the chin. BB fell back, smashing into a set of broken shelves. He huffed for a moment, staring darkly at L, before striking. He threw himself forward and swiped his knife through the air with expert grace, eyes enraged. L ducked beneath one cut and rapidly punched BB's abdomen before retreating, dodging another slice that barely missed his ear. L bent back down, onto his wrists, and coiled both feet back like a spring before kicking again, this time hitting BB in the chest and winding him. BB would not be stopped for long, and as L recalibrated himself he fell on top of the detective. They rolled back and forth across the floor, L gripping BB's wrists as they trembled, trying to force the knife through L's forehead. BB bared his teeth like an animal, L's was an expression of pure concentration. A bead of sweat dripped down L's temple.

"Did I upset you, L?" BB grunted, now on top again, locking L's legs together and forcing the knife even lower, now brushing L's skin with the jagged tip. "Does the thought of me tearing her open _bother _you?"

L kneed BB in the gut, taking advantage of the temporary relief to rap three sharp punches into BB's jaw, sending him flying backwards. BB skidded along the floor and bumped into the wall, his insane smile never leaving his face. "Did you fall in _love_ with my little strawberry?" BB laughed as L repositioned himself, once again putting himself between the serial killer and Sydney, who was struggling to move her blankets aside. "You _did_, didn't you?" BB hopped to his feet, casting aside his doctor's jacket and ripping off the mask around his neck. "I wonder if she loves you too?" BB feigned striking left then quickly moved right, he stabbed sideways, never stopping his momentum and the knife sunk through L's defences and into his shoulder. L cried out sharply, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth, his hand flying to the wound on his shoulder. BB twisted the knife down to the hilt, pleased at the look on L's face as he paled, unable to speak. He yanked the metal from L's flesh and watched with satisfaction as L dropped to his knees, panting heavily, clutching his shoulder. Blood stained the pureness of his white shirt, dripping down his chest. BB placed the knife on the back of L's neck, testing the weight like an executioner's sword as he readied himself for a decapitation. He raised his knife in the air—

BAM!

BB was knocked sideways, stumbling. His own hand flew to his head where a dull pain throbbed. He looked behind him in surprise to see Sydney standing there, hockey stick in hand, panting from the effort. Her jersey, still wet and blackened, clung to her quaking frame. Her eyes were misty and half-lidded, but determined, and her whole body had pinked from sickness, especially her cheeks, which were puffed up. BB slowly, like a cat stalking a mouse, approached her. L reached out from his crumpled position on the floor to grab his ankle, but BB merely kicked him away, knocking him out. Sydney waved her hockey stick threateningly back and forth, but BB tugged it from her feeble grasp and broke it over his knee, discarding the pieces into the fire. She backed away, but he closed the space between them in two quick strides and grabbed her neck. He lifted her up and slammed her head against the wall, cracking the plaster. She gasped for air, clawing at his grip. He shoved his knee between her legs and pinned her there, lifting her feet off the ground. He leaned closer until their foreheads were touching, her small, flickering blue eyes becoming lost in his own, she didn't dare look away. His other hand wiped L's blood from his knife on her cheek. "I want an answer, strawberry." He tucked his knife into his pants and pulled a needle from his pocket that contained a frightening, red liquid. "Do you love him or not?"

"Screw…you…" She managed to muster.

"That can be arranged." He said evenly.

"I'll…kill…you…" She kicked and struggled as he stabbed the needle into her neck. Woozily, her eyes rolled back in her head and her body went limp. He hefted her up onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and passed L's unconscious form as he headed for the O.R.

Tonight was going to be fun.

_End of Chapter 33_

On a roll. Hope you liked it!

~Satchelle


	34. Day of Demons

**Chapter 34**

**Sydney's POV**

I was on _fire_.

My entire body was an explosion of heat. It was an out of control generator shaking from its bolts and releasing wave after wave of blazing radiation. My throat was restricted, as if a burning garrotte had wrapped around my esophagus and squeezed all the liquid from it, making my gasps dry and raspy. An inferno raged at the pit of my stomach and spread venomously outwards, cracking my skin like smoking firewood and pricking my insides with licks of ignited combustion, making me twitch involuntarily with pain.

I knelt in miserable silence, counting the seconds as they ticked by. My jersey, a blackened, sleeveless unrecognizable version of itself draped down my body, sagging like a waterfall of ink. Every few moments my hand would fly up to my forehead to wipe away the sweat, noticing my ever rising temperature go up another notch. The precious liquid dripped from my nose and hair and brow, stinging my eyes like hornets defending their nest and making my vision as blurry as if I was looking through a melted piece of glass.

I was trapped in a dead, empty cell. I had no sense of time in my prison, unable to tell if I had been locked away for mere hours or days. The walls were made of a smooth concrete and surrounded me in a perfect, unbroken circle. They reached high, so high that the ceiling was shrouded in darkness. There wasn't even a recognizable door. No possible way to escape. Not unless I grew wings.

"_Please, Sydney. Tell us, how much pain are you in exactly_?" A voice crackled through a rusty speaker elevated on the wall. Next to the speaker was a camera that blinked with a tiny red dot. Its lens reflected the dim lighting as it zoomed in on my figure – like an evil and ever watchful eye, greedily soaking up my suffering. _"Feel free to be descriptive, your beloved detective here is just dying to know."_

My dazed eyes flickered and I forced out a scraggly breath, trying to find the strength to stand. Even the air in my lungs was super-heated, blistering my lips like scalding steam from a kettle. "What pain?" I dug my fingernails into my knees and bowed my head, hiding my excruciating expression with my hair. "I feel great. Seriously, you should open up a day spa, BB. I haven't been this relaxed in years. I could vacation here."

The speaker screamed with a piercingly shrill ring, as if the microphone had just been strangled. I winced from the sound. There was a pause. _"Noble words for a criminal. Thieves shouldn't pretend to be royalty; the weight of your crown might snap your neck one day."_

"Oh, I don't know," I managed a weak grin, "I might surprise you. I like to think of myself as adamantiam – I don't bend easy."

"_Perhaps not."_ BB said offhandedly. _"But you will break."_

"You clearly haven't read the Wolverine comics."

I heard distant chuckling and then a loud SMACK, as if someone was backhanded abruptly in the face. _"Laugh again and I will cut out your tongue and feed it to her."_ BB hissed.

_So L's safe. _I thought deliriously, fighting through the magma in my consciousness. _That's good. We're not dead yet. _I shuddered and dragged my nails through the skin on my knees, leaving long and shallow scratches as another flood of fire surged through my system. For a moment my eyes rolled back in my head and I felt my senses tingle, like sharp needles stabbing me repeatedly. I gasped as I snapped out of the seizure and coughed violently, trying to breathe through the pain in my chest. _What drug did he give me? Can he even drug me in a dream? _"BB..." I rasped, my fingers padding the crook of my throat, vying for air. My eyelids drooped from exhaustion. "What's the point?"

"_Does a serial murderer need a reason to spend quality time with his favourite victim?"_

I shook my head, feigning a quiet laugh, ignoring the clenching in my stomach. "So now I'm your favourite?"

"_You're stimulating." _BB admitted. He sounded laid back, like he was chatting on the phone rather than taunting an overdosing prisoner. It made me want to puke. _"More so than the...others. You have bite. The rest were so boring, so...easy. But you...well, I can take my time with you." _His voice lowered into a sadistic, primal growl. I could tell he was smiling at the thought.

"Why bother? Why not just kill me?"

"_That sounded like a request."_

I didn't reply.

"_You want to know badly, don't you? Why you? Why do I keep coming back to make you hurt, make you scream? Is that what you want?"_

I glanced up, looking at the camera lens out of the corner of my eye through my dripping, sweat-soaked bangs. I stared until I could see my pathetic and shaking body reflected in the curvature of the glass. I swallowed and took a shallow breath. "Yes." My voice cracked.

The sound of the microphone scraping across a table as it was brought closer to BB's mouth sliced through the cell. A shiver ran down my spine, as if someone strapped a melting icicle to my back. I could hear him lick his lips. _"Because it's fun." _He whispered.

There was a crackle and then a _fiiiiiiizing _and the speaker shut off abruptly.

I turned away from the camera, holding back a sob. My head felt broken, as if BB's words were the equivalent to a hammer smashing my skull in half. "I...hate you." Still dizzy, I unsteadily forced myself to stand. "I _hate _you." I sniffed. My legs were limp and I stumbled, falling to the side. I caught myself on the wall, pressing the palms of my hands and my cheek against the cool stone. I closed my eyes tightly. "I HATE YOU!" I screamed. My voice resonated up the tower, bouncing off the concrete.

I waited for something, anything to happen. Waited for the speaker to turn on, for BB to reply. Waited for Jerry to pop in and reveal this as one big prank. Waited for an explanation on how my parents had been murdered by who, only hours ago, I had considered a fictional character. Explain why I had to go through this bullshit over and over again. Waited for a magical door to open and BB to return and finally finish me off. Waited, on edge, for the inevitable knife to impale itself in my back. _Get it over with! _I demanded.

But there was only the taunting, cruel silence to meet my desperate thoughts.

I pressed my forehead hard against the stone, grinding my skull against the surface and clenching my teeth, growling in pain. "When I get out of here…" I muttered, letting my words hang ominously – my threat, my promise. "When I get out..."

But then, a perspicuously distinct sound materialized from thin air in the form of a small, tepid voice, interrupting my menacing oath.

"Mommy?" The voice asked nervously.

I opened my eyes and slowly, still leaning on the wall for support, turned around.

At the centre of my cell, miraculously, stood a little girl. She had a short, messy bedhead and chubby fingers. A thin, blue nightgown with a picture of the little mermaid on the front was her only clothing. She gripped a stuffed toy duck in one hand, while the other wiped the sleep from the corner of her eye.

The whites of my own eyes showed as I stared down at her distrustfully, crazed, as if I was looking at a ghost. _I'm hallucinating. The fever...Or the drug...this isn't real._

The girl gripped her duck to her chest and she buried her chin in it comfortingly. Her lips puffed out, pouting and worried. "Papa?"

I pressed my back against the wall and sunk down into a seated position, fingers running through my tangled hair. _Is this BB's idea of a joke?_

The girl started to cry. "Where are mommy and papa?" She asked me, tears rolling down her cheeks as her face started to flush from distress.

"They're…" _I shouldn't answer, she's not real. _Slowly, I lowered my hands from my face. "They're asleep." I managed to choke out. "Just asleep." I tried to force a reassuring smile. "Everything..." I shook my head quickly, unable to stop myself. "Everything is going to be okay. _You're_ going to be okay."

Her bottom lip trembled. "You're lying! They're dead!"

The unexpected truth of her words struck me like a lightning bolt to my heart. My smile faded, then disappeared entirely.

She shut her eyes tightly and threw her duck on the ground. She stomped on it. "And red!" She dug her heel into the toy's deflated head, the sewn on button-eye popped out and rolled on the floor. It came to a teetering stop at my toes, staring at me with hurt and betrayal. I found myself captured by it, like a horrible black hole that was sucking me in and holding my gaze hostage.

She clamped her hands over her ears and started to shout. "DEAD AND RED!" She screamed a dreadful, shrieking scream that shattered my eardrums.

I winced and fell forward onto my hip, holding my own hands over my ears. "Please...stop..."

"DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAD AAAAAAAAAAAAND REEEEEEEEEEED!" She screamed again, clenching her fists and stepping forward, aiming her cries at me the way a shotgun fired bullets.

The room started to shake and cracks jutted up the walls, sending bits of debris crumbling down and littering the floor around me. "Please...!" But I couldn't hear myself over her continuous, steady screech.

Like a banshee her body lifted off the ground, floating in mid-air. Her nightgown billowed around her and her hair drifted, weightless. Her face was unrecognizable, gaunt and pale, her eyes deep pockets of black. The little girl's voice was thrown around the room in torrents, now a wild wind bashing me from all sides, trying to keep me from standing. I watched as the shadow beneath her feet began to bubble and froth, like a boiling cauldron. Red tendrils licked her heels as the colour impossibly crawled out of the ground, spitting and squirting like blood. Drawn to life from the utterance of the world and reveling in its newfound power. Straight out of a horror movie, the evil shade of red crept across the floor and shot up the walls, like a damp fleshy mold, until the entire cell was coated in the slick, sticky liquid.

Without warning her screams stopped and I was released from the heavy sensation that an invisible force was crushing me. Her body gently lowered back to earth, her feet sinking into the puddle of foaming blood beneath her. I stared at her, mouth open, speechless. The moment she was grounded gravity took hold again and blood rained from above. Now the only sound was the liquid that dripped from the ceiling, splattering the girl and myself with the vile colour. It was sickly warm and mixed with the sweat in my hair. It streamed down my forehead and the bridge of my nose, staining my mouth like lipstick.

I looked down at the blood on my trembling hands. "Red." I echoed in fear, letting the dreadfulness of the word fill me completely. Every supressed memory...the red eye, the red room, the red knife, my red parents...flashed across my vision. I shut my eyes, trying to deny the images, but I could see them swirling in my mind.

The little girl's expression was contorted to one of unspeakable anger, her eyes pinpricks inside her deepened black sockets, the blood tinting the lines between her teeth, staining her nightgown and wetting her skin. She raised a single, slimy foot and stomped it back down, shaking the room again from the ethereal force. "REMEMBER!" Her voice had become demonically deep and scattered, as if several people were speaking at the same time, some shrill and others baritone, all furious. "REMEMBER THE DEAD! REMEMBER THE RED!"

My words wobbled, but I shook my head, casting the memories away. "I don't want to!" I used my knee as leverage and forced myself to stand, nearly sliding backwards from the enormous pool of blood that coated the floor. I waved my arms, steading myself, and kept my gaze locked on the creepy child. "And I don't have to! GO AWAY!" I shouted, gesturing with my arm like a sword, as if I could slice her in two.

The girl lowered her chin and her face darkened. "YOU. WILL. REMEMBER."

"MAKE ME!" I challenged, raising my hands defensively.

The little girl responded with a terrifyingly confident smile. I felt my stomach sink a few inches. I watched, helpless, as she raised her foot again and stomped it down. The room vibrated, sending wave after wave of ripples through the blood on the floor. But this time the ripples didn't stop, the blood seemed to come alive at her command, moving like an extension of her limbs. The girl raised her arms and the blood raised with her, monstrous tentacles writhing impossibly, growing larger. They folded in on themselves, forming a cocoon and molding, spreading and hardening into her creation.

The girl sat, grinning maddeningly, atop a giant scorpion.

Its shell was as red as the blood it was birthed from, gleaming with ruby-like hardness. Beady eyes glowed a familiar crimson, eyeing my hungrily. Its pincers and claws snapped the air and it raised its body, wriggling the forefront of its spiked legs, expressing its dominance. It slammed back down to earth, its tail dripping with steaming, boiling venom, curved and aimed directly at me. It jutted its head forward and roared, blowing my hair back and spitting in my face.

Leisurely, I raised my hand and wiped away a glob of monster-spit from my eyes and mouth, flicking it away. I took a moment to shoot an 'are you serious?' look directly at the camera elevated on the wall. _Evil mini-mes and giant blood scorpions all gift-wrapped for me in one small, inescapable space_? I jabbed my fist upwards and flipped BB the finger._ Fan-fucking-tastic._

**Third Person POV: The Hospital**

L leaned as far forward in his chair as his buckled bonds would allow, staring at the panel. His muscles contracted, tensing and relaxing, constantly testing his restraints for weaknesses. The straps squeezed his arms behind the back of the rudimentary chair he was positioned in and stretched across his chest and abdomen. The stab wound in his shoulder, left untreated, had stiffened the skin and hardened into an unclean scab, already festering with black veins. The rest of his body had acquired various other bruises and scratches since his capture – a welcoming present from Beyond. One purple apparition spread over one cheek, another yellowing from the corner of his mouth to the tip of his chin. Pink scrapes could be seen (and felt, unfortunately) down the length of his back, forearms and neck. One finger was broken (it had not been an accident).

"Enjoying the view?" Beyond asked cheerfully.

They both sat in one of the observation decks in the decaying hospital, the glass cracked and the netted wires bent. In the room below Sydney lay on a rusted operation table, frayed and sparking wires were attached to her forehead, drooping off her like multi-coloured spaghetti noodles from the suction cups on her temples. They followed the leaky pipes in the ceiling to a wall of old, boxed television sets on the wall, fizzing with a grainy picture of Sydney's subconscious displaying her trapped in a tower cell. She was also tied down with a series of belts. Her hair was soaked with sweat and her entire body was flushed from the drug that raced through her system, sending her deeper into her own dreams.

L kept his voice level and his expression even, not betraying the slightest emotion for Beyond to feed off of. "Your application of psychological torture is brilliant, if not crude. I am assuming you are playing on Sydney's childhood fears?"

"Are you always this stinted and robotic, or are you trying to pretend it doesn't bother you?"

L ignored him. "It is a risky procedure, is it not? What happens if she is driven insane from being forced to face those supressed memories?"

"Not IF, my old friend, but WHEN. And _when_ she finally breaks I can take her spark and finally end her miserable existence. After all, I created her, it's only fitting I destroy her as well." He succumbed to a fit of giggles.

"Is it..." L's brow tensed and he looked from Sydney's shivering and unconscious body to the screen, his mouth forming a thin, grim line. "...necessary for this cruelty?"

"Eleven years ago I tore apart her parents' bodies while she watched, and locked her in a room that was soaked in their blood for hours before the authorities came to her rescue. She survived." Beyond picked at his fingernails, biting them with his teeth. "She spent three years in the foster system, starving, with no one to love her. She survived. And finally, after all that paperwork was approved and she was adopted back into her family, her drunkard uncle beat her when he was having a bad day. She survived that too. Your _girlfriend _is a hard nut to crack." He tapped his temple, grinning. "So I have to be creative."

"And I assume there is nothing I can do to stop you." L stated.

BB snapped his fingers. "Now you're catching on."

L exhaled through his nose, drawn out and thoughtful. "I should have let you die, so many years ago." He said quietly.

BB's body reacted to L's statement suddenly and all at once, as if he had been struck by an invisible vehicle. His neck cricked sideways and his shoulders jutted upwards like jagged mountain peaks responding to an earthquake. His fingers and toes spread, like claws, raised rigidly in midair. For a moment his body was tense and still, only his eye twitching. Suddenly, as if a switch had been hit, he turned around and whipped his arm across L's face, sending a loud SLAP ringing through the room.

L let his head hang to the side, unmoving.

BB's features were drawn and manic, his eyes wide. "Shut. Your. Mouth." He seethed, spit flying past his teeth. BB grabbed the back of L's chair and lifted him off the ground. He tossed L crudely to the side and pressed it forward with his heel, forcing L's chair to teeter on the front legs. L's face hung suspended inches from the buzzing television screen that displayed Sydney's inner nightmare, the tips of his black hair brushing the glass.

"Watch her go insane. Watch her die alone. And I promise, if you _test_ me again you won't like the results." BB let L's chair rock back to a level position and stalked away.

L heard a door shut and watched as BB entered the operations room below and began to kick at rotting and broken medical equipment violently, smashing them with his feet and fists. The sound of dented metal and smashed glass did not wake Sydney from her induced slumber. L turned away to let BB have his tantrum, returning his attention to the scene on the television. Sydney would have to face her house of horrors and come out victorious if they were going to defeat Beyond and return to their own waking world alive. He could not do it alone. The statistics were impossible at best. _Fight it, Sydney. _He silently encouraged, sending the force of all his might in that single thought. _Fight!_

**Sydney's POV**

My hands slapped the bloody floor, splashing the liquid in my face as I rolled out of the way, narrowly dodging the stinger that stabbed through the concrete base. It speared through the rock as smoothly as knife through warm butter. The scorpion backed up and took a moment to yank its stinger from the floor, sending rocks and pebbles flying. I raised my arm to protect my face from the falling debris as I leapt over a snapping claw, sliding across its shelled surface and slamming against the far wall. I barely had a moment to breath before the poisonous stinger jabbed again, having to sidestep the attack.

The deadly dance continued, me a feeble mouse against an enormous lion, unarmed and outgunned. Giant holes began appearing in the floor and the walls wherever the monster landed a powerful blow and the resulting wreakage began to pile high. There were moments that the tower shook so much I was certain it was about to collapse down upon us all, burying me and monster alive.

I was seeing red now. Not in rage, but everything, including myself, was stained. No matter where I ran the red-eyed scorpion would try and kill me, the red girl would taunt me, and the red room started to close in, suffocating me. My body had reached its limit long ago, it was just muscle memory now. Duck, jump, dodge left, dive right. My fever had contorted my vision and my senses until I could even _smell _the colour, taste it on my tongue and feel it in my soul. I _was_ red.

Eventually my leg gave out, the broken bone from my fall off the wall of corpses and the burn that seared the wound shut decided it had had enough. I fell forward, landing on my back, sliding across the room. My head hit the wall with a dull 'thud' sound as I slowed to a halt, tilting my chin closer to my chest just enough so I could see my death approach.

The scorpion took its time as it dragged its tail behind it, across the floor, digging a deep and grating trench. As it neared it curled it up above its back, raised just higher than the little girl's head. She and it stared down at my exhausted, defeated body as the stinger gently lowered down to arch above my nose. I looked at it, seeing double, my eyes half-lidded. My breathing was quick and shallow. I couldn't have lifted a finger even if I wanted to.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do." I mumbled weakly, red swimming in my vision.

My six year old self folded her arms resolutely. "Then die." She said simply.

The stinger reared back, preparing for the final blow.

I closed my eyes.

"_Fight it, Sydney." _My lids fluttered as L's deep, intense voice sprang into my mind. The way he spoke was so certain, so assertive, as if I had no choice. _"Fight!"_

My back arched as a sudden thrill of electricity streamed through my nervous system, zapping the synapse between my muscles. My body shook from the seizure, the curves in my hands and feet curling and uncurling, trembling from the physical response to L's command. My consciousness was thrust into a long, dark tunnel, speeding towards to exit until...

_A little girl sat alone in her den, curled up in a far corner. Her eyes were wide, unable to look away, and her hands held her head as she rocked back and forth, shaking. Splashes of red were smeared across the walls and pooled darkly on the carpet. The sofa was slashed open, bleeding bits of fluff. And furniture had been overturned, smashed or broken. The remains of her mother and father were...everywhere...and even the red-eyed man had left. Abandoned her in her very own hell. _

_She didn't notice herself crying, the salty tears mixed with the stains on her cheeks, streaking down her face, cleaning away the red. The girl did not understand that her world was over. That everything she knew was about to change, and everything she had loved was taken away from her in a very gruesome instant. All she knew was that no matter how she tried to put them back together, her parents did not wake up._

_The girl's eyes finally focussed and she saw herself in the reflection of a mirror. Her chubby, childlike frame had been replaced by a daunted teenager with long, messy hair. Her nightgown replaced by a white tank-top and orange cargo pants. The only resemblance was the haunted, strained expression and the eyes – her pupils small, innocence lost._

_Sydney's eyes shook as she stared at herself and slowly, very slowly, she lowered her trembling hands and legs. Mouth slightly agape, she leaned forward and gently touched the corners of her eyes, making herself blink. The room seemed to spin on an axis as the scene before her truly became apparent. Carefully, uncertainly, she stood up. The monstrosity and gore of the room seemed smaller, less significant now that she was tall, tall enough to tower over it all. She stepped forward, feeling as light as a spirit, looking left and right at her parents remains with a sad frown. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she headed for the door. She placed her hand on the knob and turned it, pausing to look back over her shoulder one last time, she blinked away the water from her eyes. "I...I miss you very much." Not wanting her parents' bodies to see her cry, she pushed open the door and threw herself out of the room._

"_Fight!"_

My eyes shot open.

In one fluid and defiant motion, I raised my hands above my head and pressed my palms against the wall. With all my strength I pushed myself forward and slid across the floor, under the belly of the beast. Its stinger narrowly missed stabbing me through the brain by miliseconds. The little girl shrieked with rage.

I rolled onto my stomach, maintaining my momentum and held my arm out to the side. I grabbed at one of the scorpion's legs and wrenched down with all my strength. The limb came free and I spun out of the way as, unbalanced, the massive creature came crashing down. I took advantage as it struggled to stabilize and used the leg like a baseball bat, knocking off two more of its legs in the process. It hissed, tumbling from side to side, unable to find its bearings. Madly, it stabbed out randomly with its stinger, suddenly experiencing fear.

I ducked as the tail swiped horizontally, bashing against one wall. The room shook as the beast threw its weight around and larger pieces of concrete began to break off the walls, falling down and breaking into pieces, the fissures growing exponentially. I skipped side to side, darting out of the way. There was an enormous CRACK and part of the ceiling high above split open. A loud whistling spun through the air as a gigantic slab of broken rock plummeted to the centre of the cell. I braced myself.

SPLAT.

I opened my eyes, coughing, swiping the dust from the air and squinting. The creature had been flattened, only a few of its remaining legs and stinger survived, blackened and brittle in death. I stepped forward, dragging my pained leg behind me with my arms, huffing from the effort. I glanced up to see the still intact camera blinking at me.

Elation bubbled upwards from the pit of my stomach until I cracked a smile. Impressed with my own victory and unable to resist, I hopped into position and spread my arms wide, bowing. "Thank you, thank you. No, please! No need for applause! Oh, you spoil me!" I winked. "On the menu tonight we have stuffed scorpion, flattened a la chef's speciality and cooked to a delicious simmer. Smchoi!" I kissed my fingers. "Would you prefer the head or the tai—GURGH!"

My boasting was cut short as a swift, numbing sensation cut through the side of my stomach. I looked down to see the tip of a stinger protruding just above my left hip. I watched as it smoothly slid back out and fell to my knees, shocked.

Blood gurgled up my throat and down my chin and I unsteadily fell to my hip, trying to look behind me.

There stood the little girl, smiling wildly. Her body was coated with a thick paste-like mixture of blood and dust, her hair was frazzled and her nightgown was torn. She held the severed scorpion stinger in both hands, it now dripping with my blood.

I held my hand against the hole in my side, applying pressure and trying desperately not to black out as the cold bite of its venom coursed through my system. "But...w-why?" I asked, feeling betrayed and confused.

The girl didn't answer. She raised her arms high above her head, the point of the stinger glinting darkly, preparing to finish me off. I looked at her face, not recognizing her anymore. The chubby little kid who ran around in her diapers pretending to be a duck no longer existed. Only a hollow shell filled with hate that succumbed to horror remained. She wasn't human.

"YAH!" I screamed and launched my body forward, knocking into her stomach with my shoulder.

The stinger fell from her hands onto the floor between us and she shrieked, falling backwards, winded.

Exhausted from the effort, I dropped to my knees in front of it. I gently picked up the stinger with my hands, gasping as I let the frozen air touch the wound in my side. My back was turned to her, but I could feel the shadow of myself scramble to her feet, insane. I could hear her tiny steps as she raced towards me, hands outstretched, prepared to strangle me.

All the while the camera blinked calmly in the corner, waiting.

A deep shadow crept across my face, obscuring my eyes. My bottom lip trembled and I bit down on it as hard as she could, drawing blood. My free hand trembled and I clenched it into a fist, digging a trench into my palm. I sniffed, raising my chin resolutely in the air, letting my bangs fall across my face. "Damn you, BB." I whispered, my voice cracking. With a sudden cry of anguish I spun on my heel, bent my knee and thrust forward with my arm.

The tip of the scorpion's stinger sunk into the chest of the little girl with surprisingly little resistance. Her tiny ribs cracked and the pointed weapon emerged with a sickening crunch out her back. The veins in her face constricted, blackening and writhing like dirty cobwebs in a breeze. The hollowness in her eyes faded back to blue, but this time they were cold, blank. Her expression fell as her body relaxed, slumping into the soft grip of death.

An orange light burst from the cracks of the dead scorpion's shell and started to flake away, like floating ashes from a campfire. The smell of burning flesh surged through my nose as the squished body shriveled like a dried apple. At the same time I felt a steady burning sensation in my side, feeling the venom the stinger had injected dissipate along with its host. As the last of the little girl's life dripped away the scorpion was consumed in fire, its legs curled inwards, shrinking into a skeleton before floating into the ether, a wisp of dried smoke in the wind. The blood on the walls and floor faded, as if it were never there, returning to a dull shade of grey.

My shoulders shook as a sob broke through my stony exterior. I slid the stinger, the only proof of the scorpion's existence, from the girl's chest and let the limp body fall into my arms. I hugged her tightly, crying into the girl's shoulders. A pool of fresh blood formed around our knees, steadily expanding, reflecting the flickering camera light above in its murderous hue. "That's what you wanted?" I cried. "To murder...what...myself?" I set the girl down, body heaving in my throes of mourning, gently resting her head on an upturned stone. "What does that prove?"

I stood up and limped towards the camera, hand held to my side to stop the bleeding. "Stop hiding behind that camera, BB! Answer me!" I banged my fist on the wall below. "Answer me!"

**Third Person POV: The Hospital**

"I think I understand." L said as the screen zoomed in on Sydney's hurt, confused and angry face. "However, I doubt she will."

BB was holding his chin up with his hand, pressing his fingers against his lips so hard the skin turned white, staring lividly at the screen. He breathed in sharply and shot a look at the sleeping Sydney on the table below. "Yes, she does tend to miss the subtext." He muttered through clenched teeth, strained. All of a sudden he sighed and relaxed his shoulders. "Oh well," He said, waving his hand dismissively in the air, as if he were conducting an orchestra, "Time for round two."

L's satisfaction with Sydney's triumph immediately diluted at BB's statement. "What? Was that not the challenge she needed to face?"

BB allowed himself a smooth, tight lipped smile, the flashing of the television screen reflecting crimson in his eyes. "One of them." He smashed his fist on a large, blinking yellow button.

**Sydney's POV**

I moved out of the way as large chunks of the wall mechanically began to edge forward. The giant slabs of concrete SHOOPED out of the wall one by one, rising higher and higher up the tower in the form of a spiralling staircase. I held my hand above my head, shading my eyes to see a piece of the wall slide upwards, revealing a bright, white light.

_Am I free to go?  
_

Before departing the dreadful cell I took a moment to bend over, pick up the slightly squashed toy duck and lay it to rest on the little girl's...on my...chest. I looked at her peaceful figure one last time, contemplating.

_Is it over?_

I wondered that as I, cautiously, began to make my way up the staircase. It was a long drop to the bottom if BB decided to magically make the stairs disappear again, making me eager to leave. Keeping one hand on the wall to steady myself, I dragged myself up and up, the process painful and slow, eyes focused on the white light.

_No, that would be too easy. Whatever lies beyond that door, I doubt it's friendly._ I winced as my leg knocked against the edge of a stair, but I kept going. _Whatever it is, it can't be any worse than a giant blood scorpion, right? _

**END OF CHAPTER 34**

Hey guys. So that's PART ONE. I'm pretty sure I'm pulling what is colloquially called an 'inception' with this chapter. THANK YOU to everyone who offered up their ideas and encouragement. You really kicked me in the petunia to get at least part of it written. I know what I want to write next (thank goodness) to get this story arc done and over with. I hope you liked the first trial and tribulation Sydney had to face. It's been a while so let me know if I'm rusty.

Thanks for everything!

~Satchelle


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